The Night Of The Mexican Imposture
by Andamogirl
Summary: James West's and Artemus Gordon's long – and not peaceful journey on horseback across the Sonoran desert to reach San Luis Rio Colorado, Baja California. A WWW Road trip – sort of, with some references to Spaghetti Westerns (Sergio Leone, Director).
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: Season 1.

Episode-tag. This story takes place directly after the end of "The Night of the Freebooters." In that episode Artemus Gordon disguises himself as a woman (a cantina woman). He'll do it in another episode, in season 2, The Night of the Green Terror, impersonating a squaw. He'll do it again, in the first TV movie "The Wild Wild West revisited", playing the role of a middle-aged-feather-boa-ed saloon woman. It was so funny! Especially when he comes back to the Wanderer and talks to Jim.

Reference to my stories TNOT First Mission & TNOT Comanche Moon.

Reference to the WWW episodes "The Night of the Human Trigger" & The Night of the Freebooters.

 _Jim_ _ **:**_ _From now on it's a man's work._

 _Rita_ _ **:**_ _Sometimes a woman can do a man's work better than a man._

 _Jim: Of course, much of the credit goes to the grand old lady of the Secret Service-Artemis Gordon._

 _Artie: You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?_

 _Jim: No, I have no intention of it._

TNOT Freebooters

Many thanks to my beta reader Old Toad.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _The Wanderer_

 _Phoenix, Arizona, railroad yard_

 _Summer 1874_

Holding a piece of paper on which he had written a message a few minutes before, Artemus Gordon took a place on a golden upholstered sofa and said, "We received a telegram from Colonel Richmond, Jim, while you were taking care of the horses."

Holding a cup of coffee, James West sat on a chair. "Let me guess, a new assignment?"

The older man nodded. "Exactly. Our assignment is to escort His Excellency the Governor of Baja California, señor Carlos Mendoza de León, the special envoy of President of Mexico Sebastián Lerdo de Tejada y Corral, safely to San Francisco, where he'll meet President Grant."

Jim took a sip of coffee and asked, "What for?"

Artemus continued, "The President of Mexico wants the formation of Mexican-American patrols and the creation of joint border posts to prevent groups of US outlaws and Mexican pistoleros from making deadly raids along the borders of Baja California. Señor Mendoza de León has been attacked twice since he left La Paz Baja California Sur en-route to the US border. He wanted to travel by road at first, but for more security he chose to embark on board a ship and sail North in the Gulf of California. He should reach Port Isabel in 5 days. He's the third person the Mexican President has sent. The two others were killed on their way here."

Jim nodded. "I bet that some people on each side of the border want to kill him – to force El Presidente to give up his plan."

Folding the message, Artie nodded. "But he won't. He won't let himself be intimidated. At least Thorald Wolfe and his gunslingers are out of the picture now. We have to meet señor Mendoza de León and his Mexican escort in one week, in a place called San Luis Rio Colorado, Sonora, in Mexican territory. It's a small town adjacent to San Luis, a small village in the Arizona Territory, on the border with the US. We have to meet him and his escort at the El Gato Negro hotel."

Smiling James took a new sip of coffee. "The Black Cat hotel? It begins well…"

Artie chuckled. "Yes, the Black Cat hotel. I'm not a superstitious man, but let's face it, this new assignment is not going to be a walk in the park." He paused and continued, "San Luis Rio Colorado is an inland port for steamers traveling the Colorado from the Gulf of California. From there we'll take a steamboat to Port Isabel in the mouth of the Colorado River on the Gulf of California. Then, once there we'll take a US Navy sloop-of-war, the USS Portsmouth to sail up to San Francisco."

Jim was surprised and raised his eyebrows. "Why take a ship to travel to San Francisco?" He asked. "If San Luis Rio Colorado is close to the border, we could reach San Diego in two days, and then take the train to San Francisco. It would be faster."

Artie shrugged and answered, "I don't know Jim, perhaps señor Mendoza de León wants to travel on one of our best sloop-of-war to be sure to be safe, and I understand why. Like I said, he has been attacked twice since he left La Paz Baja California Sur."

James nodded. "Hmm, or he loves traveling by ship – or both." He saw his partner stand and look at his Mexican officer uniform sitting on the table. "Are you planning to play Colonel Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval, again Artie?"

Shaking his head, Artemus smiled. "Ah! He was a handsome man… I loved playing that role, but no." He took the cap and said, "No, señor Mendoza de León was told that James West and Artemus Gordon will escort him to Washington – not James West and a fake Mexican Colonel."

Standing too, Jim pointed at the wig and woman's clothes also on the table. "Then perhaps you could disguise yourself as a lovely Mexican cantina lady?" Nobody would think that you are a secret agent. Wolfe's men were completely fooled."

Artie chuckled. "No, but it was fun. The most difficult thing wasn't to raise my voice a few octaves, but to make my appearance credible."

Placing his empty cup on the sideboard, Jim said, "Oh but you were very credible, Artie. Those men in that fort believed that you were a real woman. Like I said, they were completely fooled – except me. Even Captain León believed that you were a cantina woman. I always recognize you, Artemus, in any of your disguises, as perfect as they are. Probably because I know you by heart, living with you 365 days a year – or almost. We are rarely separated."

Heading towards the galley, Artie opened the door of his second favorite place (after his lab), Jim following him closely. "One day I'd like to surprise you… One day you won't recognize me."

Jim smiled. "That's impossible."

Smiling, taking a cup off the shelf, Artemus moved towards the stove. "Do you want to make a bet Jim? If I lose, I'll buy you diner in the best French restaurant in Washington, "Au Coq Gaulois". Taking the coffee pot left there, he poured himself a full cup and then added, "And if I win, you will offer me a bottle of Courvoisier, the Cognac of Napoléon. My favorite liquor."

James nodded. "Okay." He reached out and Artie shook his hand. "Prepare your money my good friend. I have won already."

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

The two men were still discussing who was going to win the bet when there was a knock at the glass-paneled door. They left the galley to move back into the parlor car.

Still holding his cup of coffee, Artemus opened the door, revealing a man dressed in a gray suit standing on the rear platform. "Yes?"

The man took out two letters from the inside pocket of his jacket. "My name's Francis Emmett, Sir. I'm from the Phoenix Bureau. I have two letters to give you, brought by federal courier from Washington. The first one is from President Grant, containing your mission order, and the second one is from President of Mexico Sebastián Lerdo de Tejada y Corral, containing his authorization to cross the border and enter the Mexican Territory." He handed them to Artemus, and said, "Good day, Sir." And then he left.

Closing the door Artie said, "Well, now that we have everything, we can leave." He took a swallow of coffee, and placed the letters on the table. He added. "Horses are ready, now it's our turn to get prepared: I propose lightweight and light-colored clothes that will reflect the sun, a spare hat and water canteens – plural. It's going to be a long way to San Luis Rio Colorado by horse. By the time we get there, I'm going to be too sore to sit on a saddle for at least a week. Fortunately, you and I, we will travel to San Francisco on board ship."

James sighed. "It would have been faster by train, more comfortable, and safer too. Unfortunately, there aren't railway lines everywhere in the country."

Artemus nodded. "There are no railroad tracks there, only a few villages here and there with limited water supplies, and the Sonoran desert region is arid with hot summers where the average temperature is around 122° Fahrenheit. It has nice fauna too: rattlesnakes, giant spiders, scorpions... Perhaps we should take armor too, just in case. And there are earthquakes too from time to time. Natural earthquakes, not man-triggered like the one we survived the last time in Sentinel. You'll see that desert is such a nice place to go."

Jim chuckled. "I'm not sure that you would make a good travel agent Artie – remain a Secret Services agent, you're made for it." They both burst out laughing and he continued, "I'll take care of what is necessary for our journey in the desert."

Heading towards the swinging door Artie nodded. "Good idea, starting with food and water. In the meantime I'm going to draw a map of the region which is largely uncharted."

Following his partner in the narrow walkway, puzzled, Jim furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, draw a map of the region?"

Opening the door of his lab a few seconds later, Artemus said, "Just what I said, Jim. There's no map of the region, because people try to avoid traveling there for two major reasons: the hotter-than-hell desert and the Apaches. Both fatal."

Following Artemus inside, James said, "Well-prepared, we can deal with the desert – but as for the Apaches, you could befriend them like you did with the Comanche. Yellow Arrow's band adopted you, Strong Bear. You could show them the marks left by that eagle on your back – as well as the Comanche black tattoo marking your lower back - and they will know that you are protected by the sacred eagle and the Great Spirit and friendly with Indians." He paused. "Instead of killing us, they will become our friends."

Automatically touching his Comanche beaded short necklace hidden under the collar of his shirt, Artie nodded. "I could try – but I'd prefer to avoid them. I probably won't have the time to show them my back or my tattoo before they kill me – us, anyway."

Jim nodded. "Hmm… Perhaps talk to them in their language?"

Shaking his head, Artemus said, "I don't speak the Apache language."

Following Artemus to his work table, Jim nodded. "But you do speak both the Comanche and the Cheyenne languages, and that's a lot for a white man. By the way, you didn't tell me anything about the ceremony that preceded your tattooing – or about your tattoo either."

Looking at Jim, Artie shook his head, "I know. I'm sorry but I still can't tell you anything. That ceremony was sacred – it was a religious ritual, and I promised Chief Yellow Arrow not to talk about it to outsiders, not even to you Jim, and I will keep my promise. As for my tattoo, as you know, it represents an eagle with its wings spread wide open – it symbolizes the eagle that marked my back. It's a highly symbolic tattoo and it's linked to religious beliefs. It's a mark of distinction and honor too. But tattooing that eagle on my lower back was awfully painful…"

Leaning against his partner's work table, Jim nodded. "I can imagine, yes, but why put the tattoo there, in your lower back?"

Sitting on his stool, Artemus smiled. "At first Yellow Arrow wanted it to be on my chest, covering it, so anyone could see it, but I wanted something a little more discreet… so I chose my lower back, just above the waistline so it still can be seen, and I asked for a smaller tattoo too."

James chuckled. "Yes, it's a lot more discreet there, as for the size, well, your tattoo is the length and width of my hand, Artie, it's quite big."

The older man continued, "Yes, but less big than the initial size, believe me. Body, head and legs of the eagle would have covered my chest, and its wings my shoulders. Like I told you, tattooing that eagle was very, very, very painful; the Medicine Man hand-tapped the black dye – made with animal charcoal produced by charring animal bones – into my skin using sharp stone needles. Then, he removed the dye mixed with my blood with a cloth and my black eagle appeared on my skin… I did my best not to show it was torture, and they appreciated my efforts. For the Comanche, tattooing is part of a process to emphasis in warriors the endurance of pain; and pain they believe brings a closer association with the creator god known as 'Big Father', most commonly identified with the sun."

Jim nodded. "I suppose it hurts after too."

Artie continued, "Yes, it felt like a grizzly bear had mauled my lower back. Each tribe has a name for that Supreme Being you know? For example, the Six call it Wakan Tanka, the Great Mystery. For the Cheyenne, the Supreme Being is Mahéo. For the Chickasaw, it's Ababinili…" He smiled. "You know now how I was tattooed, Jim." He paused and added, "As for my necklace…"

James smiled. "You already told me, it's a present from Red Crow's daughters. It's discreet too, far more discreet that your beaded scalp lock."

Artemus continued, "I loved it. They made another one when I was there at the settlement. They added a leather thong and colored scraps of cloth to make it longer and it was decorated with beads, of course. It dangled on the side of my head and the end was level with my shoulder. I cut it off when I came back, and I placed it in a box, to keep it as a souvenir. They painted my scalp along the parting with yellow – and of course I was dressed with Comanche clothes." He smiled and went on: "Now let me get back to what I was saying. Like I said, there's no map of the region, but guides only. You know, people who want to kill señor Mendoza de León will probably try to eliminate us too, to send a message to President Grant, like: 'we killed your two * best * agents, abandon your idea of Mexican-American patrols or we will kill others'."

Jim nodded. "President Grant would refuse."

Smiling, Artie nodded. "Of course he would. You know the President, Jim. Ulysses S. Grant – or should I say Ulysses US. Grant, US for Unconditional Surrender – is inflexible and nothing and no one will make him give in, whatever it is, when he has make up his mind. So we can't take the risk of hiring a guide who could be an assassin. I don't particularly want to be stabbed in my sleep in the middle of the desert – or you either, I guess. So I'm going to buy drinks for all the guides in Phoenix to make them talk, and collect as much information as possible. With that information, I'll be able to draw a map of the region. Simple."

James nodded. "You'll remember everything they told you?"

Artemus opened a box containing a large collection of phony mustaches, eyebrows and beards of all shapes, forms and colors: brunettes, blondes, redheads, graying and white. "Yes, I have an excellent memory – and I will take notes, as I go along, discreetly, on my arms with a pen. But I can't go to find them like this, I mean not disguised. They won't tell anything to Artemus Gordon, federal agent - hoping to be hired by me - but they will to one of themselves, an old guide … old timer Sam Brown," he said, his voice changing at the end to become the gravelly and quavering voice of an old man. He took a large and thick false gray mustache. "Old Sam Brown is ready to retire, somewhere… - I still have to find a good story to tell them – retire somewhere where the grass is thick and green with his sole horse as companion…"

Jim nodded. "And old horse I suppose."

Artie smiled. "No, I don't own an old horse, and I don't think that Chestnut would like me to transform him into an old horse with some makeup. He has his pride and cares a lot about his physical appearance."

Placing a hand on Artie's shoulder, Jim smiled too and said. "Like his Master. That's a good idea, but try not to drink too much, old timer. We'll have to leave tomorrow morning at dawn to avoid the heat, and progress as much as possible, so I need you in good shape."

Spreading liquid and transparent glue above his upper lip with a pencil, Artemus said, "Don't worry Jim, I can drink two bottles of whiskey straight off without getting drunk – that's one of my many talents." Then he placed his false bushy and white mustache below his nose and tapped on it. Taking back the voice of an old man, he added, "Now leave, young whippersnapper! And let the old man disguise himself in peace! You have some work to do, sonny." He made a dismissive hand motion at his partner. "Shoo! Shoo!"

James smiled. "See you later, old timer."

WWW

 _Later, late at night_

 _In the Wanderer_

It was close to midnight when old Sam Brown (Artemus Gordon) came back home, still standing on his legs but not walking straight.

Dressed in his dark red smoking jacket, James West put down the newspaper he was reading on the table, beside the pot of coffee and his cup, and helped his inebriated partner to reach the closest sofa, catching him to keep him from tipping over. "Don't tell me, you drank more than two bottles of whiskey?"

Flopping down gracelessly to the side on the golden cushions, Artie struggled to stay awake. "I don't know." He removed his gray haired wig, dropped it on the coffee table and scratched his scalp. "I paid for bottles of whiskey, plural; they paid for bottles of whiskey, plural… I didn't count the glasses. I stopped after thirty." He gazed at Jim through bleary eyes and blinked, trying to focus. "I think I may be a bit tipsy." He listed onto his partner's shoulder and slumped awkwardly against his side, resting his head against his shoulder, relaxing. "'m just a bit fuzzy…Mmmm."

Leaning Artie against the backrest of the sofa, Jim chuckled and said, "A bit tipsy? A bit fuzzy? I think not. You are thoroughly drunk, old timer."

Rubbing his tired eyes, Artemus nodded. "I don't remember the last time I was drunk…maybe because it's the first time… no, probably not. I don't know… maybe, or not… Boy!" Then he pulled on his false mustache to un-stick it from his face, grimacing. He did the same thing with his bushy false eyebrows. Then he placed them on top of the wig, almost falling over off the sofa doing it.

Once again Jim leant his best friend against the backrest. "The last time was at Governor Garfield's reception in New Orleans during Mardi Gras, last year," he said. "You should remember it: you woke up on the roof of the parlor car, half naked."

Giggling, Artie nodded. "I remember, I wanted to sleep under the stars… and the night was humid and hot…" He touched his aching temple then pulled his sleeves up. His arms were covered with black drawings. "I have noted everything. I know a safe way to reach San Luis Rio Colorado through the desert, traveling in the numerous canyons, sheltered from the sun, and where the water holes are. It's all here." He pulled a piece of folded paper from the inside pocket of his fringed jacket, handing it to the younger man. "And there. I gathered all the information, and I took a moment to draw a map on my way back to the Wanderer…" His head began to swim, and he rolled his tall frame towards the rear of the sofa, groaning. He closed his eyes and slurred, "Good'ight James m'boy, see you in mo'ning," and fell fast asleep a split second later.

Smiling, Jim took the coverlet folded on top of the backrest and covered his best friend with it, up to his shoulders. He said, "Good night Artie, because you'll have a hell of a hangover at dawn." Then he sat at the table, unfolded the map and started to study it.

He dimmed the light and went to bed ten minutes later.

WWW

 _Day 1_

 _The next morning, before dawn_

It was 0500 when James West woke up.

He did his morning routine for 30 minutes (he showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, dressed, combed his hair and he finally cleaned his gun) and at 05:30, fresh and ready, he headed towards the parlor car – finding his partner still asleep and still rolled in a ball on a golden upholstered sofa, huddled under the coverlet.

He shook Artemus Gordon's shoulder. "Wake up buddy!" he said, and was greeted with a low menacing bear-like growl that meant 'let me alone, I'm sleeping. I'm going to bite if not'. He chuckled. "It's not going to work, Artie, you know? I can't let you sleep. I'm sorry but we have to leave in thirty minutes. We won't have time to eat breakfast, just drink a cup of coffee."

New growl, louder this time.

He walked to the galley and then came back a couple of minutes later holding a pot of fresh coffee and two cups. He sat them on the table. "Wake up Artemus!" he said, loudly.

Moaning in pain this time, Artemus pulled down a corner of the coverlet, opened one eye a slit, tentatively, winced, and closed it right after, assaulted by the light and by a killer hangover. "Mrrrpff… I have a hangover from hell," he whispered, head throbbing with a terrible headache. He pulled the coverlet back over his face and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a horrible taste in his mouth, and his head felt like it was splitting in half. He whimpered. His stomach rolled queasily, and his tongue felt like it was made with balls of cotton. It was dry and tacky. "Kill me now, please. Kill me," he rasped.

Pulling up a chair, James sat on it beside the sofa. "You know I won't do it, I'm incapable of harming a single hair of your head."

From under the coverlet Artie grunted. "Lower, too loud!"

Compassionate, Jim smiled. "We have a mission, remember?" his voice turned into a whisper.

Groaning Artie let the coverlet drop off his face, regretting it instantly. With a groan he hurried to burry his head under a pillow.

Taking the pillow in his arms, Jim said, "We don't have much time. Come on! Leave that couch immediately or I will have to resort to drastic measures to get you up… like pouring cold water on your face."

Grimacing, Artemus squinted, envying his perfectly fine and chipper partner, and said, "You wouldn't. That would be torture."

His eyes narrowing, Jim smirked. "Try me."

Artie let out, "I'm not the real Artemus Gordon, but an evil double created by Dr. Miguelito Loveless, so you can kill me. Do it! Oh boy! Next New Year's resolution number one – no more hangovers, ever!" He pulled himself into a sitting position, his limbs feeling like lead, blinking groggily - thankful that his stomach stayed where it was, and then buried his face in his trembling hands. He felt old, and felt like the Wanderer had hit him, twice. Everything hurt and throbbed. "I should invent a potion to erase hangover instantly. That will be the next thing on my * to do * list." He reached up and massaged at his aching temples. Then he yawned and rubbed his puffy eyes. "Waking up so early is torture," he said.

Smiling, James stood, poured steaming coffee into a cup. "I read somewhere that hangovers just get harder as you age…" He smirked and was rewarded by Artemus's black look. He handed it to his partner. "I know that you don't like my coffee, but it's just what you need, you'll feel better after that."

Holding the cup, Artemus nodded. "Or dead more likely. I've tried many times to teach you how to make a decent coffee but you just can't. You love coffee, but coffee doesn't love you." He rubbed his bleary eyes with his left hand. "I'll be ready in no time. I'm just going to shower and dress. I'm going to skip the shaving part though, as I won't be awake before tonight." He yawned. "And I don't want to slit my throat. I'll shave once in Yuma. I had a good idea when I installed a shower in the bathroom, don't you think? This formidable invention uses less water and it's faster to wash." He gulped the coffee in two swallows, grimaced and stood. "Gaaaah! Dear God! What awful stuff! It tastes like earth and dust, and it's thick as molasses! How can you make bad coffee with good coffee beans? I chose them myself in a shop in Washington."

Artemus swayed on unsteady legs for a couple of seconds, looking a little green, and grabbed the backrest of the sofa, waiting for the room to stop spinning before he felt safe in letting go.

He gave the empty cup to Jim, and dragged himself across the parlor car before reaching the swinging door. Once there, he suddenly turned pale and ran to the bathroom to throw up.

James poured himself a coffee and took a sip. "It's good coffee! Artie's just a snob!" he said; then he sat at the table, waiting for his companion.

WWW

 _Later_

His hair still wet, his face covered with stubble, headache still pounding in his head, Artie mounted his horse and followed Jim, already en route to the desert.

The pre-dawn darkness was gone. The stars were fading in the sky as it was growing pink with the morning dawn.

But Artemus didn't care. Lowering his hat over his eyes, to block out the increasing light, he tried not to fall asleep – but it was hard not to and he blinked.

All he wanted to do was to sleep off his hangover. Unable to keep them open anymore, he closed his eyes and his chin dropped on his chest. He let his horse follow Jim's.

He re-opened his eyes an hour or so later – feeling the already burning sun hit his face. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the burning bright light: Phoenix was a small spot at the horizon, he noticed, and the desert was all around them now.

Kicking his horse flanks, he rejoined James, mounted on his stallion. "The sun has only just risen and it is already hot. This will be a furnace in an hour or two."

Jim nodded. "We should reach the first canyon before that. Once there we'll be sheltered from the sun." He smiled. "Did you have a nice nap?"

The older man shook his head. "It's not easy to sleep when you're riding a horse. But I feel better." He patted his horse's neck. "Chestnut was so calm, that I didn't feel a thing. That's a good boy!" he rubbed the horse's neck and the gelding neighed with pleasure.

Smiling, Jim motioned his black stallion into a trot and Artemus followed suit on his chestnut gelding. Their mission had started.

WWW

 _Later_

The two men reached the first canyon on their way to San Luis Rio Colorado less than an hour later. The sun was fully over the horizon now, and they slowly followed the rock wall in the shade. The air was already shimmering with heat, heavy and hard to breathe.

The place was sandy and the ground covered with stones. There were isolated bushes and flat rocks with some scrawny trees growing in their midst. The silence was total, apart from the sound of the horses' hooves walking in the golden sand. All desert animals were sheltered from the sun and the intense heat. Nothing apart the riders and their mounts moved.

His throat dry, Artie grabbed his canteen and drank thirstily the tepid water. Then he wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.

He grimaced. The heat was worsening his headache.

Riding beside his partner, Jim furrowed his brow in concern. "Hangover's still there?" He saw Artie nod and grit his teeth. "Let's make a halt here."

Shaking his head, Artemus said, "No, it's useless, it will pass, thanks." There was sweat in his eyes again and he raised a hand to blot it away. "I prefer cold to heat. Traveling in the desert is not what I like, let alone spending long hours in the saddle." Noticing that Jim was still worried he added, "I'm going to be fine. It's not my first hangover and it won't be the last one."

Placing a hand on his best friend's arm, Jim said, "If you don't feel well, I mean not well at all, tell me, and we'll halt, okay? And drink regularly and stay in the shade, I don't want you to be dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke." He smirked and added playfully, "Old people are fragile…"

His jaws clenched, Artie glared at his partner.

WWW

 _Later_

The two men stopped at midday as the sun was right above the canyon and the shade nonexistent. The heat was almost unbearable, radiating up from the sun-baked desert. Fortunately, they had found a clump of trees to protect them from the implacable sun.

While Artemus was sitting on the sand, his back resting against a round rock, James fetched something to eat in his saddle bags.

He joined the older man, sat down cross-legged beside him and handed him a small bag. "Slices of dried beef and two apples. It's frugal, but I couldn't put gourmet food in the saddlebags."

Smiling, Artemus wiped one arm across his face to clear away the sweat from his eyes. "Next time I'll prepare the picnic."

Opening his own bag, Jim pulled out pieces of dried meat and began to chew on it. Artie pulled out an apple from his bag and rolled it in his hand pensively.

Taking a second piece of dried beef, James said, "A nickel for your thoughts."

Blinking, Artemus returned to Earth. "Hum? I was thinking about a way to keep food cold – for picnics, and not necessarily in the desert, but anywhere, like in a park or at the edge of a river or a lake." He bit into his green apple. "Mmm… it's good and juicy". Then he continued, "We could carry fresh food instead of dried food… it could be a portable ice box with a handle and a shoulder strap. Ice cubes could be placed inside to help the things inside stay cool. We could carry meats, dairy products, eggs, etc., anywhere! Can you imagine that? It would be fantastic!"

Jim nodded. "That's a very good idea, Artie. But the ice cubes will eventually melt – and soak all the things inside that portable ice box – unless you wrap them in oiled paper, but even with that, the ice box will be filled with water."

Standing, Artie offered his second apple to his horse, and Chestnut devoured it in seconds. Then he sat down back at his place and pulled the dried beef out of his bag. "I know… I need to find a solution." He started to chew his slice of dried meat – lost in his thoughts again.

After a moment James asked, "How's your head?"

Automatically, Artemus rubbed his temple. His headache was down to a faint throb at his temples. "Oh, better. The headache is fading… I focused on that invention and it began to vanish…" He suddenly snapped his fingers. "I know! Ice bags! They could be filled with water, refrigerated and contain the melting water inside. Yes! That's brilliant!" He beamed both happy and very proud of himself.

Pulling an apple out of his bag, Jim frowned, puzzled. "Ice bags?" Then he whistled and his horse moved towards him. "What is it?"

Blackjack bit in the offered apple before engulfing it greedily.

Leaning against a thin and twisted trunk, Artie said, "Yes, ice bags, made of waterproof fabric, filled with water and sealed. Once frozen they would keep food and drink cool, and mainly contain the melting water inside. As for the portable ice box, well, its size could vary, from small, to medium to large, depending on the amount of ice to put inside it - and the amount of food of course. Of course there are other parameters to consider to, like the…" He yawned. "Like the…" A new yawn interrupted him again.

James smiled. "I think you and I, we should I take a short nap. We still have a long way ahead of us 'til sunset." He leaned against a rock, pulled his hat over his eyes, crossed his arms and finally closed his eyes. "Try to sleep buddy."

But Artemus stood, opened his saddlebag and pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil. "Yes, I will, later, for now I'm busy. I must note my idea before it's gone."

He sat on a flat rock and immediately started drawing schematics of his portable ice box – adding notes on the bottom of the page.

He wiped rivulets of sweat running down his face.

WWW

Jim woke up two hours later and noticed that Artie was still drawing. He was sitting cross-legged but had moved beside at a group of bushes.

He smiled. "Interested by the local flora, Artie?"

The other man nodded. "Yes, I am. I always have been interested in nature since I was a boy, especially the flora. I've made many herbaria and filled many sketchbooks by observing the nature around me. My father bought me books of botany and I knew all the medicinal wild plants. I picked flowers in fields around the house and I offered them to my mother, explaining to her their names, their characteristics, etc." Using his pencil he pointed at a lone green shrub with yellow flowers and said, "It's a Larrea tridentate, also known as the creosote tree, but here, in the Sonoran desert, it is more commonly called hediondilla. The Indians living in this vast region, the Chiracahuas, the Navajos, the Mescaleros, among others, use it in medicine as an herbal remedy you know. They believe that it can treat many maladies like tuberculosis, chicken pox and even that it can cure snakebites!"

Smiling, James nodded. "I'm impressed. And the other bush?"

Looking at the other bush almost tangled with the creosote tree, Artemus said, "It's an Ambrosia dumosa, also called the burro-weed. It usually is found with the creosote tree. It's green with yellow flowers too, but they are different, forming clusters."

Standing Jim said, "Alright buddy, it's time to close your sketchbook. We have a long afternoon ahead of us. Let's saddle up!"

WWW

 _Much later, at sunset_

Groaning, wincing, Artemus Gordon sat gingerly on his bedroll. His body was stiff and aching from the day's journey. Resting his aching back against his saddle, he said, "Ow! I think I'm not going to be able to sit on a saddle anymore for the next ten years!"

Smiling, James West threw a few pieces of dead wood into the fire. 'You means tomorrow morning, right? Come on! A good night's sleep and you'll be in great shape, ready to ride your horse for a whole day. Are you too tired to prepare diner?"

The older man was surprised. "Diner? Did you pack other things that dried beef and apples? It depends… what do you have?"

Opening his saddlebag, he pulled out two cans of corned beef and a can opener. "Here!" then he gave them to a surprised Artemus. Then he chuckled.

Scowling, Artie started opening the first can. "Opening a can is not what I call preparing dinner," he said. He handed the opened can to his companion. "Next time, we'll have my ice box and fresh food inside, and I could prepare real food – not that awful stuff! It's sticky and stinky! – but it's better than rats and crows, I suppose. Everything is relative."

Pulling out a box of biscuits and two forks from his saddlebag, James lifted his eyebrows in surprise, and then grimaced in disgust. "What? You ate rats and crows?"

His own can opened, Artemus took a fork and planted it in the gooey meat. "Yes, it was when I was in Petersburg, undercover as a rebel soldier. If the officers still ate _quasi normally_ simple soldiers like me didn't have anything to eat, or almost, just what they could find." He smiled. "I ate roasted lizard and grasshoppers amongst other things when I was with the Comanche, it's not bad accompanied with fruits of the prickly pear cactus and wild fruits, seeds, nuts and berries." He sighed and took a mouthful of corned beef. He swallowed, grimaced and said, "Gah! There's too much salt…" He watched as Jim sat the box of biscuits next to the fire and smiled. "Oh! Those are my biscuits! The ones I baked yesterday."

Chewing one, Jim nodded. He devoured it hungrily. Taking a second biscuit he said, "Filled with homemade strawberry jam, it's delicious!"

Artie looked down at his corned beef in disgust. "Of course it's delicious! I made those biscuits; it's not like that revolting mess… I eat it only because I'm hungry. I ate tons of this canned gooey meat during the war and I hated it each time. You too, I guess. "

Planting his fork in the salt-cured meat, Jim nodded. "Yes I did eat canned meat during the war, like everyone in the Army. But I liked it, and I still do."

Looking affronted, Artemus frowned. "You do? Really? Right, then perhaps I should stop making gourmet food for you – and serve you that revolting stuff instead. I would have more spare time."

Finishing his corned beef, Jim shook his head. "That's impossible! You take too much pleasure in cooking for two and as for your spare time – you use it to cook."

The older man took another forkful of canned meat. "Yes, you're right. I love cooking, it's a passion. I take it from my mother - she's a real cordon bleu. I learnt everything from her." He took his canteen and took a long drink of tepid water.

Biting on a biscuit, Jim nodded and said, "I was traveling in the desert of the Arizona Territory once, on a solo mission – it was before we were officially partnered. I was so hungry that I ate a rattlesnake. It had scared my horse and I nearly broke my leg falling to the ground. I killed it and then ate it roasted, it's not bad."

Lying on his bedroll, Artemus crossed his hands on his chest and stared up at the darkening sky and first stars shining and said, "It is said that snake tastes like chicken… I suppose it's better than eating rats and crows." He closed his eyes and added, "I even ate earth-worms in a trench in Petersburg. I was so awfully hungry… I lost a lot of weight…"

Closing the box of biscuits, Jim nodded. "I know, I was there, remember? I removed your clothes so that Dr. Henderson could remove the bullet from your body."

Opening one eye, Artemus looked at his partner and smiled. "Your bullet. You shot me. Well, let's say that's an original way to get to know someone." Tired, he closed his eyes and added, "It was the worst period of my life, but I did meet you. I've always wanted to have a brother and you became that brother, Jim."

James wrapped himself in his blanket. "Same thing here, buddy. I still have it you know, I mean the bullet that Henderson removed from your chest. I kept it as a souvenir of the day we met, as a souvenir of the beginning of our friendship." He smiled and added, "Artemus Gordon, an extraordinary man who's more than a best friend actually, but a surrogate brother."

Artemus smiled. "Thank you, I feel the same way about you, Jim. Thankfully I survived. But it was close. Did you ever think what your last words could be Jim? Something unforgettable."

Frowning Jim rubbed his chin pensively. "No, I havn't thought about it – but now that you asked that… I will think about it. What about you?"

Artie chuckled. "My last words would be: Qualis artifex pereo."

Jim smiled. "In English, please?"

The older man said, "It means, 'what a great artist perishes with me'. I know it's a bit pretentious… Those were the last words of Emperor Nero – who was not a nice man, to say the least, but the opposite of me. But it sounds right, for my last words, don't you think?"

Sitting his Winchester on his lap, James nodded. "You're an artist Artemus. You're a great actor, you're a musician who can play any instrument with a preference for the violin, you can sing operas, you're a Chef making gourmet food, you're a fantastic inventor, with a preference for explosives, you're a brilliant chemist and you're good at drawing too, and you have a way with words. You're multitalented – and a great artist, so yes, I think those last words suit you."

Artie smiled. "I have a way with words, yes, I know, that's why I write all the mission reports. You should try one day. It won't kill you, Jim."

Looking around him, James nodded. "I'm better with a gun. Speaking of killing, I'm going to take the first shift, Artie. I'll wake you in six hours. I don't think we were followed by anyone, but there are other deadly dangers here in the desert, like rattlesnakes, scorpions, …"

Nodding, Artemus pulled his blanket up to his shoulders. He shivered. The desert was now cast in purplish dusk. The desert night was chilly but tolerable with a good fire, he thought.

His eyes were closing from the tiredness that went through his system. "Okay, good night Jim." Then he moved onto his left side.

"Good night Artie," Jim said.

WWW

 _Day 2_

 _The next morning_

The delicious scent of fresh coffee woke Jim. He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked at Artemus, sitting cross-legged beside the fire. "Good morning Artie," he said, voice muzzy with sleep.

Pouring a cup of coffee, Artemus said, "Good morning Jim," and then he handed it to his partner. "Do you want some biscuits too?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, please." He took the steaming cup and a couple of biscuits, and said, "Thanks. I slept like a stone. This place is so calm and so peaceful." He looked up at the pink-orange sky. "It's still early. We should leave before it gets too hot." Then, hungry, he wolfed down his biscuits.

Standing Artie said, "Everything's ready Jim, or almost. But you can take your time to drink your coffee and eat your light breakfast."

Jim spotted Artie's sketchbook and pen lying on the sand beside a flat rock. It was opened. "You drew again, I see."

Picking up his sketchbook and pen Artie nodded. "Yes; I drew a Fouquieria splendens, commonly known as ocotillo or Jacob cactus. After rainfall in spring or summer, bright crimson flowers appear on the spiny stems. The fresh flowers are edible and can be eaten in a salad, and you can make a tisane - that's a herbal infusion - with the dried flowers. Tisane of dried ocotillo flowers is used to alleviate coughing and aching limbs for example… and I could use pints of it right now." Smiling, he put the sketchbook and pen back in the saddlebag.

Artemus finished his coffee, and then covered the dying fire with some sand. "It's going to be a beautiful day, but too hot for my taste unfortunately." He poured the coffee dregs at his feet and then slid the pot into his saddlebag along with his cup. "But that's the desert."

James took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee – black, strong, but not bitter. It was light and sweet and full-flavored. "There's another canyon ten miles from here."

Sitting beside Jim, Artie nodded. "I know." He touched his temple. "I memorized the map, remember? There's a waterhole at the end of that canyon. The horses will be able to drink and us too, and we'll re-fill our canteens." He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I'm exhausted."

Looking at his partner with concern, Jim said, "I know. You had nightmares… I heard you say _General t_ wice and moan in pain. I suppose the _General_ in question was General Grant. Did you relive what happened in Petersburg?"

Raising his eyebrows, Artie shrugged. "I don't know. I can't remember them, but it's possible as I told you things about Petersburg last night. But I lived through so many… painful and dreadful things during the war, that it could have been one of them. It's left invisible scars." His eyes were haunted.

Jim nodded in compassion. "I know that you don't want to talk about them, because it's too painful, and I can't imagine what you went through… but I'm here, Artemus, and I'm a good listener." He stood and brushed the sand off his pants. "Give me one minute and I'll be ready."

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _Day two_

 _Middle of the afternoon_

It was hell! Artemus Gordon thought.

Looking around him, he blinked. He'd never known such heat before. The blistering sun was beating down on a seemingly endless desert. Everything: rocks, cacti, bushes, etc. and even Jim riding his horse were distorted by the heat haze shimmer.

When he ran his tongue over them, his lips were dry and cracked.

No, it's far worse than hell, Artie mused, feeling with each minute the sweltering heat wrap a little more around his body like a tight, whole-body corset.

He closed his eyes, gasping for air. Then he looked down at his hands. The skin there was an angry, livid red and bone-dry - he had sunburn. "I need to find something, an ointment maybe or a lotion, to protect fair skin like mine from sunburn," he thought. 'Another thing to add to your _to do_ list, old man.' He winced. The muscles in his legs and arms were cramped. He continued to muse, ignoring it: he could use a mixture of zinc oxide and ferric oxide… powered and mixed with a base, fats for example, to obtain an ointment with cooling and soothing effects entailing a symptomatic relief… something ideal to relieve the sunburn…

He groaned. He was burning up. The heat was implacable, and the atmosphere was so heavy he was having trouble breathing. It was hot and he felt hot. He was dizzy too, and the pain in his head didn't help. He swallowed, licking his dry and cracked lips.

Reaching for his canteen, Artie suddenly moaned when black dots appeared in his vision. He straightened in his saddle and then everything began to spin. It was getting harder and harder just to stay upright. He gripped the reins tighter.

He recognized the tell-tales signs of heatstroke: the lack of sweat, the hot skin meaning that he was severely dehydrated and the headache that was bothering him. His pulse was fast too, throbbing at his temple and his temperature was elevated. And of course there was the dizziness and the nausea.

But it was too late to avoid it.

Nausea, yes, he was very nauseous, he thought distantly, his brain fuzzy. He clenched the saddle tighter and suddenly threw up to the side.

He leant on the neck of his horse, burying his face in Chestnut's mane, feeling awful. He was going to die from a heat stroke, he thought. "I don't want to die", he rasped.

He tried to stay upright but he was slowly listing to the side, his heart fluttering in his chest. His breathing was becoming more labored. "Jim! Help!" he whimpered before crashing to the burning hot and barren sand. Then black spots overcame him.

He let out a whimper of distress. His eyes rolled up in their sockets and darkness washed over him.

WWW

 _Later, next to a waterhole_

Eyes fluttering open, Artemus came around one hour later, cold and aching, and he instantly realized three things: one, he was in his short underwear, two, he was lying down, half-immersed in a pond, in the shade of a small stand of trees, and three, his head was resting on Jim's lap.

He smiled. "Hiya Jim!" He saw that Jim was looking down at him, frowning in concern. "I'm alright," he croaked, his throat dry. "But I thought I was going to die."

Nodding, Jim said, "And I thought you were going to die." Cupping cool water, Jim poured it onto his best friend's scalp and continued, "You had heat stroke Artemus and I'm cooling you down with water. You got dehydrated and you passed out. I put you back on your horse and led you here, to the waterhole. I stripped you to your underwear - and I immersed you in the pond." He poured cool water over Artie's face and neck eliciting moans of pleasure from his partner. He added, "We're going to stay here until tomorrow morning. You're in no shape to ride anymore." He put a couple of fingers on his best friend's throat to check his pulse. It was back to normal. "You're still a little paler than usual, but you're going to be alright." He brought the canteen to Artie's parched lips. "Drink buddy! You need to re-hydrate yourself. I know that you're thirsty, Artie, but take slow and small sips otherwise it may be upsetting for your stomach. You don't want to be sick again, right?

Sitting up a little, Artie shook his head then craned his head up weakly so Jim could give him some water. He took a few slow and small sips, which ached going down his desert-dry throat. He closed his eyes in bliss. Drinking the cool water felt wonderful. He stopped drinking only when the canteen was empty. He sat up slowly, Jim helping him. "Thank you Jim, you saved my life."

Jim smiled. "It was a pleasure."

Looking at his partner, Artemus giggled and asked, "Do you remember that mission where I ended up naked into a pond?"

In was Jim's turn to giggle. "Oh yes, I remember, that was something unforgettable. Dr. Desiree Venus – or Dr. Love as she called herself – sprayed her love-potion on you to stall you while she escaped. Immediately, all her henchwomen jumped on you, covering you with kisses and caresses, and they took off your clothes in a flash to get access to your skin. You managed to flee – naked - and as you had that elixir on you, you rushed to the pond at the bottom of the garden to get rid of it. You cleaned yourself, but when you left the pond, all the women were waiting for you, still attracted to you."

Finally managing to stand, Artemus smiled broadly and answered his partner. "I should have realized that it would be no use – that the elixir had penetrated my skin. But for my defense it was an instinctive reaction – with a bit of panic too. Fortunately you rescued me, bringing my horse to me… It only disappeared a week later. I had to stay hidden in the Wanderer for seven days in order to avoid attracting all the women of Washington – not to mention their furious and jealous husbands and boyfriends as well." He paused and asked, "Speaking of clothes, where did you put them?"

Jim pointed at a flat rock. A pile of clothes and a pair of boots were sitting on it. "Over there."

But instead of heading towards them Artie moved in the opposite direction, ending in the middle of the pond, up to his hips in cool refreshing water.

He turned around and looked at Jim. "Come on, Jim! It's so refreshing!" Then he plunged his head under water for a moment and rubbed his hair and face, washing away all the sweat and dirt. Then he disappeared under the surface.

Dreading a malaise, Jim bolted in Artemus's direction and gasped when he surfaced, dripping, his dark curled hair plastered to his scalp.

Artie smiled broadly. "Hey Jim! See? The water's perfect! Cool and refreshing." He shook himself, sending drops of water everywhere.

His eyes narrowing, Jim said, "You sent drops of water on me… You do understand this means war." Then he jumped on Artie, like a tiger on its prey.

Once the sun started to dip into the horizon the heat began to drop, there in the middle of nowhere: a wasteland of stone, saguaro cactus and sun-bleached sand.

WWW

 _Day 3_

 _The next morning, at dawn_

Exhausted, Artie was sleeping, very still and heavy, like the dead, laid down on his bedroll, wrapped in his blanket, his head resting on his saddle.

His Winchester resting on his lap, Jim was suddenly shaken by shivers. In the desert the nights are as cold as the days were hot, he mused. He was sitting on the sandy ground, a blanket draped on his shoulders, his back against a rock, and his feet beside the small fire.

Everything was calm, peaceful… until a rumble broke the silence and startled Artie awake. The two men stood in a hurry, looking around them as the rumble increased.

Feeling the ground shift from under his feet, Artie said, "It's an earthquake!" The ground started shaking violently and cracking.

The terrified horses were already galloping away from the canyon.

The first rumble was soon followed by more, each growing larger than the last. The ground was totally unstable now, collapsing here and there and they struggled to keep balance.

Rippling through the terrain, another intense shock wave hit and the rumbling grew worse. The boulders around Jim and Artie began to move and to fall all around them as the ground bobbed up and down – and fractured, opening large fissures. The trembling grew more violent, they sank to the ground, trying not to fall flat on their faces. The walls of the canyon crumbled.

The two men sprinted away at top speed, zigzagging between rolling rocks, evading falling cacti, jumping over crevices opening under their feet.

Suddenly, the shaking stopped almost as quickly as it had begun. The whole ordeal lasted maybe a minute, but it felt like much longer.

Out of breath, leaning against a now immobile rock, drained, Jim said, "That was close… We could have been crushed back there."

Sliding to the sandy ground, Artie nodded. "Yes," he just said, exhausted. He wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. He too was breathless. "You're right. You try to find the horses while I try to find our saddles and saddle bags."

Shortly after, the two men separated, going in opposite directions as the ground beneath their feet trembled with the aftershocks of the quake.

Holding the reins of the still-skittish horses, Jim joined Artemus in the middle of what was left of the canyon: rock walls fractured and chaotic heaps of rocks.

He found the other man up on a flat rock, saddles and saddle bags sitting at his feet – looking at a large opening between very big rocks. "I don't remember seeing a cave here," he said.

Rubbing his stubbled chin, Artie shook his head. "I was thinking the same thing exactly. Probably because it was hidden."

Frowning, puzzled, Jim asked, "Hidden? Why?"

The older man pointed at the small entrance of the cave covered all around with very ancient rock paintings representing some kind of geometric signs painted in red. "People lived here a long time ago, Jim. I read somewhere that the area was inhabited by a pre-Columbian tribe between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. I remember that they carved stone and incinerated their dead… they buried the remains in graves, and the remains of their important people in urns before placing them in caves – which they considered as sacred places because darkness made the link with the underworld inhabited by the gods of the dead. I think that cave is one of them. But they wouldn't hid the entrance, for the place was always accessible… so if they didn't hide that cave, others did – probably later after the place was abandoned. I don't know why. But I do know that that earthquake revealed the cave. Let's see it more closely."

Following Artemus - in exploratory mode, Jim suddenly stopped before the entrance of the cave. "You know, those signs could be a warning to people to keep out, like 'stay away' and 'danger' and 'go further and you will be killed. You have been warned.'"

Shaking his head Artie said, "I thought about it, but the resting places of that tribe weren't booby-trapped, Jim, as anyone could go there anytime."

Meeting his partner at the entrance of the cave, Jim nodded. "Yes, but someone hid that cave after that tribe abandoned it, Artie. And * those * who * hid * that cave perhaps did booby-trap it to keep what's inside secret."

Frowning, Artie nodded. "You're right Jim. Let's be cautious then." He glanced around him and spotted what he needed: a piece of wood and some dry moss. He quickly made a torch with them, and Jim struck a match. Holding his now-lit torch, Artemus slowly entered the dark place, Jim in tow.

The ceiling was high enough for them to stand, and Artie lifted his torch, the flames brightening the dark cave around them.

He circled the small cave, starting on his left. He lit first a hundred or so urns piled about fifty feet away, said, "I was right; it's a very ancient burial place." Then lit shadows in front him – and gasped when the light revealed a dozen skeletons littering the ground and all wearing conquistador's armors. "Well… we know now that conquistadores came here a long time ago, and died here, swords in their hands …"

Looking around him anxiously, Jim nodded. "Booby-trapped maybe? Killed with poisoned darts coming out from the walls?"

Artie grinned. "You read too many dime novels Jim…" Turning to his right, Artemus let out a second, louder gasp – and Jim did too - when the light hit a veritable mountain of gold objects. "Oh my!"

Both amazed, the two agents exchanged incredulous looks. Then Artemus snapped his fingers twice. "That legend is true!" he said.

Moving towards the treasure, Jim asked, "What legend?" He took a solid gold plate and observed the patterns engraved on it. "Mayan?"

Glancing at the object, then at a few others, Artie said, "No Aztec. And that confirms the legend of the lost treasure of the Aztecs."

Intrigued Jim frowned. "The lost treasure of the Aztecs? I'm not the only one here who enjoys reading dime novels."

Looking at Jim, Artie explained, "In 1540 a famous conquistador, Francisco del Castillo explored the coast of Baja California under the commission of Hernan Cortes. He had a good part of the Aztec treasure in the cargo hold of his ship, the Esperanza, when he was ordered to explore the eastern coast of the Baja California Peninsula. But people on board coveted all that gold and fearing mutiny, he chose to unload the treasure and hid it somewhere inland… far from the coast, with the idea to come back later to enjoy his treasure after settling in the area as military governor. His most trusted men accompanied him. When he came back on board his ship two months later he was alone. He told his officers and crew that they died of sun fever – also called heat stroke."

Looking at the long dead conquistadores remains, Jim said, "He lied to them. He probably killed them all to keep the place secret."

Artie nodded. "And he piled rocks to hide the small entrance after his crime – rocks that with time have eroded and no longer have the appearance of a stone wall. Those rocks collapsed with the earthquake, revealing the entrance of the cave. But Castillo was stabbed to death by a sailor on board his ship. The treasure was lost, and Castillo's ship, the Esperanza, vanished without a trace in the middle of the Atlantic on its return voyage to Spain with another captain. People said that the treasure was cursed. This started the legend of la maldición del tesoro perdido de Azteca, the curse of the lost treasure of the Aztecs. It says that all who coveted that treasure died, and those who will covet it in future will die too."

Looking again at all that mountain of gold, Jim said, "I propose to hide that treasure, and then continue our journey to San Luis Rio Colorado. Once there, I'll send a telegram to Washington to Colonel Richmond, to tell him that we have found the lost treasure of the Aztecs." He sat the gold plate at his feet and added, "I could buy anything I want with all that gold…"

Artie waved a stern finger. "Don't covet it Jim! Remember the curse."

Jim smirked. "Come one Artie! A curse? Really? I thought you had a rational mind; that you followed Descartes. This curse has never been proven."

The older man nodded. "And you're going to tell me that ghosts don't exist … but I'm sure that one day we'll meet one…"

Suddenly, four Mexican men holding guns entered the cave in their turn. Two of them held makeshift torches as well as guns.

Smiling, a man dressed in black, wearing a black sombrero charro and a large mustache – also black - took a step forward, pointing his gun at James West. "Throw your guns away señores and hands up! And no tricks, okay?" He commanded. (The two agents complied, but threw their guns not too far). Señor West? Señor Gordon?"

Lifting his eyebrows in faux surprise, Artie said, "Who? No, my name is Robert Kirk and my friend's name is Fowley, David Fowley."

The pistolero sniggered. "Nice try, but only two gringos are traveling the desert on their way to San Luis Rio Colorado: James West and Artemus Gordon, both special agents of the US Government." He smiled, paused and added, "My name's Enrique Vega. I'm not going to kill you – well, I was paid to kill you, but I'll need your help to carry as much of the gold as possible to the other side of the frontier, to a place called Santa Cruz, where my men are waiting. It's two days' ride from here. They're expecting to see me bringing your bodies, but I will bring you alive, carrying gold, and after that I'll kill you. Then, I'll come back here with a pack of mules to take the rest of that big treasure…"

Smiling, another pistolero added, "And with us, don't forget us, Enrique. We want a part of the treasure, it's not only yours."

Enrique Vega nodded. "Of course."

Raising his hands, Jim said, "You were following us."

The head pistolero nodded. "Yes, since last afternoon yes, but you didn't see us, señores."

Raising his hands in his turn, Artie warned, "You know, if I were you, I wouldn't take that treasure. It's cursed. All those who coveted it died brutally, and so will anyone who tries to take it. Have you never heard of the maldición del tesoro perdido de Azteca?"

The pistolero shook his head. "No, I haven't, señor, and I don't believe in curses, these are tales to frighten women and children!"

Curious, Jim asked, "Who paid you to kill us?"

Enrique Vega shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you. That's secret."

Curious too, Artie said, "Oh! Come on! You can tell us, you're going to kill us anyway, we won't tell anyone. Tell us, who's your boss?"

Pistolero number one smiled. "It's Carmelita Mendoza de León. She's el jefe of the pistoleros, and I am her right hand man." He chuckled. "Her husband is…"

"Let me guess: señor Carlos Mendoza de León, the special envoy of President Lerdo de Tejada y Corral," Jim said. "She's a pistolero and he doesn't know."

Enrique Vega nodded. "He doesn't suspect her, how could he? He's totally in love with her and thinks she's an angel – but she doesn't love him anymore. No, she loves someone else… She left La Paz a week before him and she's already in San Luis Rio Colorado with a few men – planning another assassination. She has tried to kill him twice since he left La Paz, but he has good bodyguards. They suspect anyone, anything – for example they taste his food, his water…But he won't have you to protect him when in your country… Or he will. Oh! I just had a brilliant idea! James West and Artemus Gordon will arrive safely in San Luis Rio Colorado to escort señor Mendoza de León in los Estados Unidos, but…"

Raising his hand, Artie said, "It's my turn to guess: but it won't be us, but two pistoleros. Forging an identity card is not difficult for you, especially as Mendoza has never seen us."

Pistolero number one nodded. "Exactly. We have a few Americanos working with us. Two of them will take your place and they will kill Mendoza in the US. I'm going to tell Carmelita my plan and she'll love it…" He looked at the treasure again, eyes shining with covetousness. He remained motionless for a few seconds, mesmerized by the reflections of the torch flames on all that gold. He finally blinked out of his trance. "All that gold… all that gold…" he said with a grin. Then he looked at his three companions and then at Jim and Artie. "I changed my mind… no one will ever know about that treasure except me. I'm going to kill you Federales, now, and keep the gold for me." He quickly turned and killed his three companions, each with a bullet in the heart. They crashed to the ground immediately. "And you too gringos."

Grinning, he turned round ready to kill the Americanos just to find himself nose to nose with Jim – who sat the barrel of his gun between his eyes. "Infierno! You're fast!"

Nodding, Artemus said, "Yes he is." He retrieved his own gun and added, "Now remove your clothes, hat, boots and gun belt – please. No discussion, do it."

Enrique Vega did what he was told.

Satisfied, Artemus gathered them up and holding them in his arms he said, "We're going to leave now, and as we are not monsters, but civilized men, we're going to leave you a horse - but not your own horse. How can I identify it by the way?"

Blinking, puzzled, Vega said, "It's the white horse."

Suddenly there was a low rumble and new vibrations shook the ground. The rumbling and shaking grew stronger every second. Large chunks of rock from the ceiling were falling through several fissures – and one of them fell on top of Enrique Vega, crushing him, killing him instantly.

Artemus dodged falling rocks, and said, "Let's get out of here Jim! Before the whole cave falls on our heads and kill us!"

The ground started to crack open.

They had just left the cave when another earthquake hit. It was a repeat, not a strong as the first quake but strong enough to make the cave crumble.

Jim and Artie had just left the cave mouth when a load of huge rocks fell from the ceiling and sealed it. The rumbling stopped and everything stilled around them.

The two agents looked at the place where the cave hiding the Aztec treasure had been. It was now a huge pile of rocks that formed a jumbled stack.

Dusting off his jacket, Artie said, "That's the curse, Jim. Four men died. Fortunately for us, we didn't covet that treasure – otherwise we'd be dead too. The treasure is inaccessible again. It's a good thing. The curse is ending here."

Looking at all the 'black pistolero's clothes' Artemus was holding in his arms, Jim asked, "Why did you take all this?"

Artie smiled. "Trojan horse. Once in San Luis Rio Colorado, I'll disguise myself as Enrique Vega and I will infiltrate the pistoleros there. I have my disguise kit with me, his belongings (he noted money, pesos bills in the jacket's inner pocket), his horse, and I speak Spanish like a true Mexican man – and I can take his voice too." Imitating Vega's voice he added, "I will ensure that Carlos Mendoza de León learns the truth about his wife – and have her arrested."

Jim smiled. "Si Señor."

Smiling, Artemus looked around him, at the seemingly endless desert, watching two tumbleweeds roll past not far away, the sweat beginning to prickle under his burnt skin. "Well, pistoleros attacked us. Check," he said. "Then what? Apaches?"

Jim frowned at his companion. "I think that you have just jinxed us, Artie."

Rolling his eyes upward, Artemus said, "You believe in jinx but not in curses? That's odd. Now, let's get out of here."

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _Later_

The sun was beginning to set in the desert, the sky turning a clear bright shade of orange when the two men, their horses and the pistoleros' horses reached the next waterhole to spend the night there. They were exhausted, soaked in sweat and covered with sand and dust.

Dismounting his stallion, Jim wiped his face with the corner of his jacket and said, "I'm going to take care of the horses." Then he led them to the pool, lined by round rocks and scrubby bushes.

Dismounting his gelding, Artie licked his chapped lips. "Time to set up camp. I'm going to find some wood to build a fire." Then he headed towards a group of stunted trees.

He had his arms loaded with dead branches and tumbleweed when he suddenly heard, "Artie, come here!" and he dropped the whole lot to the ground.

He met Jim beside the pool. His partner was pointing to the wet sandy ground. He noticed then footprints and traces of hooves. "No boots, but moccasins, no horseshoes." He observed. "Apaches, Jim. Three of them," he concluded.

His hand resting on the butt of his gun, trigger finger tingling, Jim added, "They are fresh footprints. The sand is still wet. They were here not so long ago. They watered their horses here." He looked around him, scrutinizing all the shadows, on guard. Artie did it too. "Perhaps it's not a good idea to make a camp fire, after all, Artie." Still looking around him to spot a potential threat – namely Apache, he continued, "But if they are still here, they'll have spotted us already."

The older man nodded. "But they may already be on their way. We'll see."

Shortly after, Artemus started the fire, adding tumbleweed to the flames, then he unsaddled the horses, removed the blankets and then removed the saddlebags and bedrolls.

Still on guard, the two agents crouched beside the fire – keeping silent to better listen to all the sounds around them.

But it was eerie silent.

The two men exchanged a very worried look.

Suddenly the horses got nervous and a split second later one Apache jumped on Jim while a second jumped on Artie. They all crashed to the sandy ground and the Indians immediately took combat positions, pulling knives out of their belts.

Jim put his hand on the butt of his gun – but the Indian lunged forward before he could un-holster it. The sharp blade sliced through his forearm, leaving a bloody gash. He grunted in pain and punched the Apache square on his nose, breaking it, eliciting a yelp from his attacker, who reeled back. giving him time to glance at Artie. His partner was pinned to the ground by a tall and broad Indian sitting astride him. The Apache had closed one large and powerful hand around Artie's neck, strangling him, and was bringing his blade to his companion's throat.

Struggling to breathe, Artie was holding the Apache away with his left hand and holding the Apache's wrist with his right, the blade a few inches from his throat.

Grunting, the hulky Apache used his brute strength to push all his weight behind the knife, baring his teeth in a feral grin, hoping to overpower the white man's arm and drive the knife in.

Jim wanted to help Artemus, but his opponent jumped on him again. Clinging at each other they rolled together towards the pool.

Meanwhile Artie – still blocking the knife just inches from his throat - could hear Jim fighting with the other Apache, but couldn't spare a look in their direction. He gritted his teeth, as he was beginning to tire. He was feeling a bit light headed because of the lack of oxygen coming to his lungs. Gathering his declining strength, Artie managed somehow to push his free elbow into his adversary's solar plexus. He dislodged the big Apache, and hit him hard with all he had – right on his jaw, before moving away on all fours.

He scrambled back to his feet. In a couple of seconds he caught a glimpse of Jim and the Apache still struggling beside the pond throttling each other.

Focusing on his own opponent, Artie grabbed his gun, but the Indian made a lunge at him.

He dodged to the right to avoid being skewered and spun – just to feel a sharp pain where the blade had cut… in his left side.

He let out a grunt of pain and fired.

It didn't stop the massive Apache, now bleeding profusely from a wound in his stomach. Moving backwards Artie tripped on a rock and lost his balance and landed hard on his injured side. He cried out in pain and fired a second time just as the Apache was about to stab him - and the world went black. He didn't see the hulky Indian finally drop to the ground, dead.

Meanwhile, Jim was still fighting against his opponent – for now they were circling each other. Then, suddenly the Indian stopped and ran full force at the white man, knocking him off balance and into the nearest rock, his knife at his throat.

In a flash, Jim grabbed the Indian's hand and twisted it until the knife fell to the ground. The Apache snarled and pulled out a second knife from his back, and dashed at the agent. But this time, Jim managed to un-holster his Colt and shot the other man in his chest, at close range, watching him crumple to the ground – dead!

Breathing heavily Jim took a second to wipe the blood off of his mouth, then he dashed towards Artie's prone form, a wave of panic running through him. He sank to his knees beside his fallen partner, noticing with dread his face, pale and still, and the blood soaked vest and shirt.

He touched his partner's throat and let out a sigh of relief, finding a strong pulse under the clammy skin. He raised his gun when he heard the horses neigh nervously.

He spotted another Indian – who fled on his horse, taking all the other horses with him – all except Blackjack and Chestnut, both kicking out.

He fired, but missed the Apache as he galloped away into the dark night.

Kneeling again beside Artemus, Jim rolled the other man onto his good side, and pulled his shirt up to get a better look at the wound. He winced. The cut was deep and it was bleeding a lot.

He immediately opened Artie's saddlebag and pulled out the medical kit they always carried with them wherever they were going. Then he un-rolled a bedroll and gently, slowly, pulled Artemus on it. After that he quickly removed Artemus's jacket and shirt, both blood-stained, and dropped them on the sand.

He was pouring disinfectant liberally over the cut when Artemus regained consciousness, moaning, eyes half-open.

Grimacing, Artie immediately hissed and arched on the ground, his whole left side throbbed, with shooting pains through his abdomen. He shifted and winced. "Ow! That hurts!" He clenched his jaw and then saw that Jim was bleeding too. "Jim you're hurt and bleeding!"

Replacing the cap on the bottle of homemade disinfectant, Jim said, "It's a simple cut, that's nothing. I'll take care of it later, it's not urgent. You first buddy; your injury is more serious than mine. It's a deep cut but fortunately it's not life-threatening." He smirked and added, "The knife cut is in your fleshy side Artie."

His male pride wounded, Artemus looked hurt. "My fleshy side? Are you insinuating that I'm fat?"

Taking a syringe, pre-filled with painkiller and sedative, Jim uncapped it and injected the transparent liquid into the hollow of his partner's arm, into a blue vein. "No, you're not, you're perfect, Artie. I don't see how you could gain weight and be fat with the hectic life we lead every day. You're just more 'fleshy' than me, that's all. Nobody is built the same."

Feeling drowsy Artie nodded. "That's true… "

Patting Artie's shoulder soothingly, Jim said, "You're perfect Artie – for a middle aged man who doesn't have a single silver hair."

Closing his eyes, Artie murmured, "You should have more respect for your elders my boy, remember you told me that old people are fragile…"

Jim smiled. "I was joking; you're not old Artie, just older than me."

Smiling too, Artie nodded. "I know. Oooh… that's a good drug…. Pain's going away."

Jim nodded. "That drug is very powerful."

Relaxing, Artie mumbled, "I know… I prepared that drug. Apache? Dead?"

From the kit, Jim took clean linen and turned the flask of disinfectant upside down against the cloth. "Yes, they're dead." He began to wipe it gently over the wound. "But there was another one waiting with the horses. He managed to escape with the pistoleros's horses, but Blackjack and Chestnut are still here. Blackjack doesn't tolerate anyone – except you and I – approaching him, and I'm the only one who can mount him. As for Chestnut, he didn't want to leave you; you are a too good master. You're spoiling him too much, giving him treats like apples, carrot pieces and sugar lumps."

The older man smiled. "That's a good boy…He… he likes me as much as I like him." His vision blurred and he felt his body becoming heavy. Then he went limp and totally still.

Using a fishhook-like needle and thread, Jim began to sew the wound. When it was over, he poured disinfectant on the stitched wound, placed clean linen on it, and then bandaged Artie's middle. After that he took care of his own bleeding gash.

WWW

 _Day 4_

 _The next morning_

It was dawn when Artemus cracked an eye open. He had slept like a rock all night long – while Jim had spent the night awake, his Winchester on his lap, ready to welcome any Apache with bullets.

Jim poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Artie, who had just propped himself on his elbows. "Morning Artie, how do you feel?"

With a muffled groan, Artie moved gingerly into a sitting position, and leaning against a rock, he took the cup of coffee. His head hurt, his mouth was dry and his vision was a little fuzzy: tell-tales signs of a post-anesthesia. He groaned.

Placing his hand on his injured side, which was burning, he replied, "Like I have a nasty cut on my fleshy side. It hurts as expected. Thanks for the stitches and for the coffee. You?"

Pouring a cup of coffee for himself, Jim smiled. "I'm fine, don't worry; it's just a cut that's nothing, no stitches needed, unlike you. Are you going to be able to ride?"

Looking up at his horse grazing a patch of dried grass, Artie nodded. "Yes, it's going to hurt, but yes." He smiled happily and added, "I'm glad he stayed."

Smiling, Jim swallowed his coffee. "Of course he did. Like I said last night, you're spoiling him. You feed him well – perhaps too well - you spend hours looking after him, giving him treats from time to time; his stall is always clean and covered with hay and when you need to think about something important, you hide yourself in his stall with a pencil and pieces of paper. He loves you."

Artie took a sip of coffee and grimaced. "Gaah! It tastes awful! You know there's a difference between coffee and molasses Jim…"

Lifting an eyebrow, amused, Jim asked, "Really?"

He swallowed a second mouthful of the thick and bitter liquid which tasted like ashes. "This stuff could wake the dead!... I always loved being with horses since I was a boy."

Jim nodded. "Blackjack is jealous of Chestnut, I think."

Looking at the black stallion, Artie chuckled. "He shouldn't be, he's a spoiled horse too. He loves apples and you give him at least three per day." He took a sip of coffee and then said, "We should leave as soon as possible. The next canyon is about 30 miles from here. Let's take advantage of the freshness at dawn."

Pulling himself up, Jim nodded. "You're right, let's leave Apache territory. You and I don't want to meet them again." He helped Artie to stand and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be alright. We should reach San Luis Rio Colorado by tomorrow midday. But before that, we should reach Yuma tonight and spend the night in a comfortable bed, in a hotel."

Clenching his injured side, Artie nodded. "Ah! That's good news! I'm longing for a long bath, a saloon with good beer, a juicy T-bone steak and a beautiful girl – not necessarily in that order – and especially a peaceful and restful night in a comfortable bed."

Jim chuckled. "Sybarite!"

Artie grinned. "Well, you know me." He finally noticed that he was wearing a black shirt. Vega's shirt. "Let me guess, my shirt was blood-stained and ruined."

Jim nodded. "Yes. I kept the yellow one, your favorite, in your saddlebag. But I'm sorry to tell you that your favorite corduroy jacket is bloodstained and cut beyond repair, Artemus. And as you brought just that one, you'll have to buy a new one in Yuma to be presentable in front of his Excellency the Governor of Baja California, señor Carlos Mendoza de León."

Frowning Artie nodded. "If he's still alive. His wife, Carmelita, wants him dead. Vega didn't tell us anything, but could have been assassinated recently."

Jim finished his coffee then said, "You, Artemus Gordon, are a bird of ill omen. If he is dead, it's simple, we return to Phoenix without him, and the Mexican justice will handle the case. End of the story. Then we'll wait for a new assignment."

Finishing his coffee Artie nodded. "Amen! Preferably not in a desert."

WWW

 _Later in the afternoon_

They reached the canyon at noon, led the horses to the waterhole in the shade of ragged trees and then sat in a large hollow in the rock, protected from the scorching sun and dangerous heat.

Leaning against the rock wall, Artie wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. He was sweating through his clothes, his vision was blurring and pain rippled across his injured side.

Frowning in concern, Jim said, "Lie down, I'm going to take a peek at your wound. I hope the stitches are still holding."

Closing his eyes Artie complied, exhausted. He was soon fast asleep.

Placing a jacket rolled into a ball under Artemus's head with one hand, Jim used the other one to pull Artie's shirt up to his chest. He removed the bandage and carefully lifted up the linen. It was bloodstained a little, but nearly all the stitches had held. Others were broken, and the tiny holes were bleeding sluggishly. "You'll have to see a doctor in Yuma, buddy," he said.

Shortly after, he opened the medical kit. He tipped some disinfectant onto a clean cloth and began dabbing at the wound. Artie moaned, winced, and shifted but didn't wake. Jim took a needle and began sewing the wound were stitches were missing. Then he placed new linen on the wound and finally re-bandaged his sleeping companion.

He let Artie sleep for a couple of hours then shook his shoulder. "Come on Artie! Wake up. You'll sleep in a bed tonight."

Opening his eyes, Artemus yawned and said, "My side hurts more than before. Did you play the nurse when I was out?"

Helping Artemus to sit, Jim nodded. "Yes, I had to Artie. Some stitches were broken and you were bleeding. Once in Yuma, you'll see a doctor."

Opening his saddlebag, he pulled out two bags containing slices of dried beef and two apples. He offered one to the other man. "Last frugal meal before eating real food in a saloon, Artie." Then he bit in his apple. "We should reach Yuma tonight."

WWW

 _Much later, at night, Yuma, Arizona Territory_

Holding a glass of fresh beer, Jim West was sitting at one of the tables of the local saloon when Artemus pushed the batwing doors open and stepped inside. He was immediately immersed in a roar of chattering, drinking, smoking and bad music; his eyes adjusting to the smoky atmosphere, gas lights flickering against the red and gold wallpaper-covered walls.

Raising his hand Jim said, "Artie! Here!"

Holding a parcel under his arm, Artemus joined his best friend – more like surrogate brother and said, "Doctor Paterson told me that you did a good job, Jim. All the stitches are holding and the wound is clean. There's no trace of infection. He cleaned the wound, put a special ointment made with honey and resin on it to facilitate the healing and here I am." He placed the parcel onto the table, sat and added, "I did some shopping: I bought a new corduroy jacket, the same as the old one."

Smiling, Jim pushed a glass of foaming beer along the table towards his partner. They clanked glasses. "Salud!" he called and took a sip, Artie following suit.

Grimacing Artemus said, "It tastes awful," he said, examining his glass of barely-drinkable warm beer.

Jim smiled. "Their top shelf whiskey is probably just awful too. I took a room at the hotel on the other side of the street, a double room." He gestured towards the waitress and a lovely blonde dressed in a short red dress headed towards them, holding a tray covered with empty glasses. "Good evening miss, my friend and I are famished. What do you have to offer us? I'd like something wholesome and substantial."

She focused on Jim – on his green eyes, on his charming smile, not interested in Artie, who rolled his eyes. His best friend was a girl-magnet. He always – or almost – won them all. But he wasn't jealous, he mused. That was life with James 'Don Juan' West. He had become accustomed to it.

She fluttered her eyelashes flirtingly, and gave Jim her most seductive smile. "We have steak and sautéed potatoes with red wine gravy and roasted onions."

Raising his hand, Artie said, "Perfect! Two: one for my friend here, and one for me." Then he stretched his legs under the table. "I hope their cuisine is better than their beer."

Still eying Jim hungrily, the waitress didn't pay attention to Artie's remark and said, "My name's Samantha, but you can call me Sam, charming stranger. I finish serving in one hour…then I'll be free." She smiled and left.

Sipping his beer, Artemus surveyed the saloon around him: the place, noisy, crowded, smoky, was frequented by cowboys, sailors (the port was close), miners and off duty soldiers (Fort Yuma was close too). They were drinking at the bar or sitting around tables. They were playing poker or chatting lively. An old man was playing songs on a faded black out-of-tune piano near the staircase leading to the upper rooms of the saloon.

He glanced at the long mirror hung above the back of the bar, observing the faces of the people standing there.

Usual clients, exchanging banalities.

But two men seemed different, he noticed: two men both dressed in black, with the same shiny gun belts and hats adorned with silver ornaments. Twins. Their backs were turned to them – and their eyes were riveted to the mirror hanging above the rear part of the bar; they were watching Jim and he fixedly, like hunters watched their prey before the fatal shot. The two men in black were both drinking whiskey, slowly, their other hands lying flat on the counter, falsely calm.

He turned towards Jim and said, "Those two men in black at the bar are gunslingers, Jim, twin brothers and outlaws I'd bet. And they're watching us."

Looking at Artie, Jim nodded. "I know. I spotted them too. Be ready Artie, something tells me that we're not going to eat our steaks peacefully."

Said steaks arrived a couple of minutes later, each on a plate, with sautéed potatoes, wine gravy and roasted onions.

The waitress smiled, fingering her décolleté enticingly. "Anything else?"

Smiling Jim looked up at Samantha and shook his head. "No, thank you," he said politely but firmly – meaning 'don't bother me anymore'.

Disappointed the waitress pouted and left.

Salivating, Artie planted his fork and knife in the large piece of juicy meat – while keeping an eye on the gunslingers standing at the bar. "James, my boy, after the pistoleros, the Apache, now it's the turn of outlaws to try to kill us." He cut a large morsel of steak, dipped it in the gravy and onions and engulfed it hungrily. He closed his eyes in bliss. "Mmmm… real food. Not bad – for saloon food."

Cutting his steak too, Jim looked around him and spotted a third man sitting at a table next to the stairs leading to the first story. He too was looking at them like a cat would look at a mouse. "There's a third one next to the stairs, brown hat, black shirt, grey jacket. You take him, I'll take the others."

Swallowing a little beer, Artie nodded. "Okay. But after I've finished eating…" He cut another piece of tender beef and froze, his fork halfway between plate and mouth. The two gunslingers at the bar had just turned around with a chink-chink of (silver) spurs, hands on the butts of their six-shooters. He sighed. "Too late." He sat his fork and knife down on his plate. He swung round in his chair and faced the man sitting at a table next to the stairs. "Be careful, Jim." Then he stood, slowly – and the outlaw did that too.

Standing too, Jim nodded and said, "You too Artie. It shouldn't take long. Your steak won't have time to cool – mine either."

People in the saloon noticed that a gunfight was going to happen – and they chose to move back to safety or to leave.

The piano player stopped playing.

The saloon was suddenly deafeningly silent.

The man on the left pulled out a photo cut from a newspaper from the pocket of his jacket, took a look at it and showed it to his twin brother. "It's them, James West and Artemus Gordon." Then he dropped it to the floor and cracked his knuckles.

Artie sighed and said, "Secret Service agents shouldn't have their picture in the newspapers, so as not to get into trouble…"

Jim nodded. "Yes, but that's the bad side of it, think about the good side, Artemus, because of that, we're famous! Nothing but invitations in Washington by Senators, generals... and lovely ladies attracted by our exploits…"

His hand on the handle of his Colt, Artie nodded. "Who happen to be the wives of the aforementioned senators and generals. But not always, fortunately for us. Yes you're right, it's true, there is also a good side to fame …" Raising his hand he asked the twin brothers, "Before we start shooting at each other, I'd like to know something. Why do you want to kill James and me? It's just curiosity. We have so many enemies who want to kill us, so…"

The outlaw on the left responded, "Our boss, Jack Martin, wants you both dead to send a message to President Grant: don't prevent us from freely crossing the border between the US and Mexico… and as you are Grant's favorite agents.…"

Frowning, Jim said, "Jack Martin? You're members of Jack Martin's gang of thugs and thieves? I thought we had put his band behind bars three months ago…"

Fingers twitching in nervous anticipation, the outlaw on the right explained, "Yes you did, but he has a new gang now. Many outlaws want to work with him, like Hector Tindell, he killed the famous Marshall Frank Hammer two weeks ago in Denver…"

His features hardening, his eyes losing their gentleness, Artemus said, "He was a very good friend. I was his best man when he got married." He shifted into Special Agent mode. "It happens that the Martin's gang will be reduced by three members very soon…" He said, his voice cold.

Jim glanced at his partner, impressed – Artemus Gordon could be a badass when he wanted, he reflected. Thankfully, he was on his side.

The three outlaws stiffened their posture and suddenly, drew their guns. Jim's lightning reactions kicked in and he fired faster than the eye could register - before they could pull the trigger.

They crumpled together to the dusty wooden floor; guns still in hand – dead, blood spilling out over their chests.

In a flash, Artemus and the other outlaw also un-holstered their guns – but Artie was the faster. The bullet hit the outlaw in the shoulder. He tumbled backwards and landed on his back. He fired, missing Artemus completely – as the agent had moved out of his line of fire in the nick of time with the agility of a cat.

The outlaw prepared to shoot again at Artie with his Colt .45. Pointing his gun at the injured man, "Don't! Don't even try it!" Artie warned the other. "Don't make me kill you."

But the outlaw ignored the warning and placed his finger on the trigger. Artemus shot him again, this time hitting the outlaw fatally. His gun slipped from his fingers and he hit the floor, his chest spattered with blood.

Moving towards his partner who was tucking his gun back into his belt, Jim asked, "You okay?"

The older man nodded. But his face was grim. "Yes. I don't like killing people, as I don't like violence. I prefer talking my way out of situations. But sometimes I don't have any other choice."

Suddenly a man wearing a sheriff's star on his jacket entered the place, framed by his two deputies, and they took in the bodies littering the floor, guns still in hand, bleeding from fatal wounds. Then they looked at Jim and Artie, pointing their guns at them.

"What's the hell happened here?" the sheriff asked.

Pushing his gun back into the holster, Jim used his hand then to pull out his identity card from the Secret Services and showed it to the law man. "My name's James West, sheriff, and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon. We're both Special Agents working for the Secret Services. Those men were outlaws. They wanted to kill us – we were faster."

Artie sat in his chair and touched his steak. It was cold. "They're all dead, show off, end of problem, sheriff," he said. Then he took a sip of beer.

The sheriff took a look at Jim's card and nodded. "Okay." He snapped his fingers twice. "Larry, Frank, take those bodies outside, on the boardwalk. Then Larry, you ask the undertaker to come by with his buckboard as soon as possible." Looking at Jim and Artie, now both sitting side by side at a table, he asked, "It's the first time I met special agents of the Secret Services. Are you planning to stay long here in Yuma? Because I don't want anymore trouble in my town."

Jim shook his head. "No, just the night. We'll leave tomorrow morning." He took a swallow of beer. "Goodnight sheriff."

Once the sheriff, the deputies and the bodies of the outlaws were gone, Jim gestured towards Samantha and she quickly came over.

Impressed, she waved a hand and said, "Whoa! I never saw someone shoot as fast as you – Mr. West." Still ignoring Artemus, who smiled behind his glass of beer.

Smiling Jim pointed at the two plates containing the almost untouched and cold food. "Could you bring us two new plat du jour, please? The food's cold."

She nodded. "Of course Mr. West." She offered a seductive smile at Jim, trying her luck again, and left, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Turning towards Artie, Jim noticed that his companion was amused and he said, "You know it's not my fault if all women like me – a lot."

Smiling Artemus shook his head. "No, of course not. I'm not jealous you know. You don't need to justify yourself each time a woman falls under your charm and totally ignores me. I got accustomed to it, since we started to work together. You always win the girl at the end of our mission, or almost. Sometimes we head out with a lovely lady each. Don't worry; it doesn't bother me, at all. At least, when I am in Washington, women take an interest in me. Probably because I know everyone there - or almost. When I was an actor, I met a lot of important people – people that count in the Capital, and a lot of women. "

Jim nodded and added, "And because you love the events of social life, unlike me. You are a sophisticate, Artie, and the ladies of Washington love that kind of man. But I'm not jealous either buddy."

Samantha came back with a tray on which were two plates containing the plat du jour. "I hope you won't be interrupted this time. I'll be free in 30 minutes." She sat the plates on the table and asked, "Another glass of beer, Mr. West?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, please. I'm sorry Samantha, but my friend and I are exhausted. Perhaps another time. I won't forget you."

Samantha pouted, disappointed, but she finally smiled. "Okay. Next time. I won't forget you too Mr. beautiful-green-eyes West." She smiled seductively at him, and then she left.

Artemus rolled his eyes.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _Jim: "You better get back to Casa Verde. They're liable to miss you."_

 _Artie: "All right. (sticks out hand) Well, I'm going to be there overnight, won't I? I'll need a hotel room."_

 _Jim: "Yeah, you might, but Mojave Mike he never heard of a hotel room. Is there a livery stable?"_

 _Artie: "Livery stable! What about the smell?"_

 _Jim: "Well, the horses will just..."_

 _Jim and Artemus: "...have to get use to it."_

TNOT Fatal Trap

WWW

 _Later that night_

 _Old Oak Hotel_

Once in the hotel room, Artemus removed his dusty hat, revealing hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He dropped it, along with his saddlebags, on the nearest bed, discarding his gun belt and his brand new jacket onto the small table.

He slumped onto a chair, heaving a long sigh, totally exhausted, and rubbed his temples wearily.

There was a fingerprint-covered mirror hanging above the table. Artemus looked at his worn out reflection, and brushed away the dust ingrained in the lines around his eyes.

He sighed again and said, "We're both going to need a short leave after this assignment, I'm thinking about three days in Saint Louis."

Putting his saddlebags and hat on the bed too, Jim asked, "Saint Louis? Why?" He smiled. "Oh! I know. The Wellington sisters? We promised them to come back, a month ago."

Cupping his face, covered with a few days stubble, Artemus said, "We never dated twins before, Jim. I'm thinking about carriage rides along the banks of the Mississippi, picnics in the park, dining in French Restaurants, some dancing - and theater, of course. Melinda is definitively attracted to me, and Cassandra to you, that's perfect! I hope Colonel Richmond will grant us leave. We deserve it." He ran his fingers through his hair, standing up every which way, and grains of sand fell onto the scratched and stained table. Adopting a Mexican accent, he added, "Go to the bathroom Jim, you're good and ready for a long warm bath and a good shave too. I read a notice at the reception, they have tubs and even a shower in this hotel, and a barber too."

Surprised, Jim lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you dreamed of taking a long, hot, bath. You don't want to be more presentable – and not stinky?"

Artemus yawned, stretched, stood and sat at the end of the bed set next to the window. "Yes, I was. But I'm going to stay here, like this, unshaven and dirty – and smelly, and stinky – and I'm really sorry to impose that to you Jim – until we meet Senor Mendoza de León. I need to stay like this because tomorrow morning, I'll be Enrique Vega, pistolero, just come out from days in the desert. I want to be as credible as possible – my life depends on it. Fortunately for me, the real Enrique Vega and I, we have the same height and build..." He scratched his quasi-black beard. It itched. "With cheeks like that, I won't have to put a faux-stubble on them, and dirty as I am, I won't need to cover my face and hands with make-up to imitate dirt either. It's perfect!"

Smiling broadly, Jim wrinkled his nose before pinching it playfully. "I agree. But you stink, Artie! And I stink too. But it won't last, at least for me. But I warn you, I'm going to leave the window open all night – and that bed next to the window is your bed, no discussion! You will push it as close as possible to the window, Artie. I would rather be hot than be asphyxiated all night long."

Frowning, falsely offended, Artie said, "And what about me? I'm going to be both asphyxiated and hot all night long."

His eyes shining with amusement, Jim said, "Life is hard Artemus. Deal with it." he chuckled and then added, "See you later!" then he left the room.

Smiling, Artemus opened his left saddlebag, took the disguise kit (a small suitcase he always carried with him, like his sewing kit) sitting at his feet, and put it on the table.

He opened it and looked inside at the fake beards, eyebrows and mustaches, various wigs, and makeup and necessary products to make false parts of the face: like a phony nose. He pulled out a thick black moustache and said. "Perfecto!"

WWW

 _Later_

It was an hour later that James West joined Artemus Gordon in their hotel room.

He had taken a long bath in the hotel bathroom to clean himself up, and then used the services of the barber to get rid of his thick stubble.

Then he had bought a few cigars and the local newspaper at reception.

The hotel room was almost in darkness; a lone kerosene lamp sitting on the bedside table placed between the twin beds lighting it weakly.

Jim found Artie in his underwear, sitting on top of the bed, his back propped against the headboard, holding his sketchbook and graphite pencil, drawing. "I thought you were sleeping already."

Showing his drawing to Jim – a realistic portrait of Enrique Vega - Artemus said, "I took a short nap when you were gone and then I drew Vega's portrait while I still remember his face. I have to look just like him. What do you think? Realistic?"

James took the glass ashtray which was sitting on the table and sat on his lumpy bed. "It's him alright. It looks like a photo! Very good job buddy," he said. He placed the ashtray beside the lamp and then continued, "I bought a few cigars. We came out of the desert – not intact, but still alive. So we need to celebrate! So – cigars!" he chuckled, and added, "And the strong scent of the cigars will cover both your sweat smell and horse smell. No offense." Then he smirked.

Artemus chuckled. "None taken, and that's a good idea."

Jim pulled two cigars from an inside pocket of his jacket, and handed one out to Artie. Then he placed the newspaper on the wobbly bedside table. He tossed his partner the box of matches he kept in his side pocket. "I hope the cigar is good."

Smiling, Artie put the cigar in his mouth and said, "Thank you," before striking a match against the sculpted headboard. He took a series of short, quick inhalations to get the cigar lit; then he took a long drag and breathed out a mouthful of smoke. "Hmm… just passable, not as good as the cigars the President offered me for my birthday, a month ago;" he commented.

He puffed up at the ceiling, cracked and spider-web-covered in the corners.

Holding his own cigar between his teeth, Jim took off his clothes and folded them on the back of the chair placed against the wall. His partner's own clothes occupied the only shelf of the room.

He pulled his cigar out of his mouth, and said, "The same cigars he smokes all day long, very long and very strong. I never refuse one of his cigars when he offers me one, and I like cigars, but, I prefer cigarillos. Sadly, they didn't have cigarillos at the reception."

Once in his underwear Jim slipped between the sheets, sitting on the bed, resting his back against the headboard.

The younger man lit his cigar in his turn; then slowly turned it so that it burned evenly. After a moment he blew smoke in front of him and finally asked, "What's your plan to infiltrate the band of pistoleros in San Luis Rio Colorado?"

Frowning, Artie settled the sketchbook and the pencil onto the bedside table and moved between the sheets, the bed creaking a little. "As I don't know any of them, I'm going to let them come to me. San Luis is a small town, Jim, they will spot me within minutes, I'm sure. I'm going to go to the local cantina and wait there to be contacted. I suggest you show your face in town, Jim, and tell the people around your name, like at the hotel… so that the pistoleros can identify you – unless they have photos of us, like the outlaws did. But in case they don't, tell people who you are. I need the pistoleros to see you alone, partner-less. I plan to tell them and Carmelita Mendoza de León that I killed the older gringo – the formidable and handsome Secret Services agent, Artemus Gordon - and tell them too that you killed my compadres before I choose to retreat and join them in San Luis."

Jim nodded. "That's a good idea! What about me playing the role of a redoubtable and cold-blooded gunslinger? I killed your companions, all of them."

Artemus smiled. "That's a good idea. That shouldn't be too hard for you. You played the role of Frank Slade, the notorious outlaw, a few months ago. You just have to play him again. That will be perfect." He chuckled and then continued, "I didn't tell you this the last time, but I loved your thin moustache – it was a very elaborate disguise, so elaborate that it was hard for me to recognize you."

The tone was openly mocking.

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yes, it was, wasn't it? And I forgot to compliment you on your Mojave Mike disguise… that was very creative and authentic. It's too bad I had to kill you." He snapped his fingers. "Oh! The smell! I remember it now. You smelled worse than you smell right now."

Artie grinned. "I take that as a compliment. My smell was the best part of my disguise, Jim. I created something special to 'perfume' myself with, it was a concoction made with horse manure, horse pee and sewage water, and I covered my clothes with dust and dirt to complete the picture." Seeing the other man grimace in disgust, he smiled proudly. "You know me, Jim, I never do things by halves when I slip into my character's skin." He waved a finger, and falsely outraged, he added, "And you let me sleep in a livery stable with the horses instead of buying me a hotel room!"

Jim smirked. "I was so sorry for those poor horses…"

They both burst out laughing. Making fun at each other was real fun.

Jim became serious again and said, "As for me I'll go to the El Gato Negro hotel to wait for Señor Mendoza de León – or meet him, he's perhaps already there with his entourage. There's something we didn't think about buddy: the horses. We can't bring them with us on board the ship."

Artie propped two pillows behind his head. "Ah! I thought about that. Before I went to the doctor I sent a telegram to Colonel Richmond telling him the latest events, and asked him to send someone here to fetch the horses from the livery stable. He told me that he'll send an agent to transport the horses to San Diego, and then using the train, to San Francisco. We'll rent two horses tomorrow."

Lying on his bed too and piling two pillows behind his head, Jim chuckled softly, amusement dancing in his green eyes. "You have been a very busy secret agent, Artemus Gordon. Did you think about bringing a few useful gadgets?"

Smiling, Artie said, "Yes of course I did, you know me, I always bring a mini arsenal with me every time I travel. I brought an assortment of a few useful things: a few smoke bombs, others filled with my new crying gas – which I call tear gas - and a few explosive mini bombs. Just in case. I brought my sewing kit too, and tomorrow morning, before we leave, I'll make tiny hidden pockets here and there in our clothes to put them inside. I will hide some of them in my big Mexican hat too."

Jim nodded. "And I'm sure we're going to need them. Okay, everything's fine, then." He grabbed his newspaper and started to read the front page.

They both smoked their cigar slowly, in companionable silence, Artie drawing landscapes of the Sonoran desert between puffs, adding botanical notes at the bottom of the pages.

Finally, they finished their cigars, crushed the stubs in the ashtray and yawned in concert. They were both exhausted.

Getting between the sheets in his turn, Artie dropped his sketchbook and his pencil to the carpeted floor, then he stretched. "Good night Jim, sleep well."

Leaning towards the kerosene lamp, Jim smiled. "Good night Jim, sleep well too," and blew out the flame, plunging the room into darkness. Then he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

WWW

 _Day 5_

 _San Luis Rio Colorado_

 _Caballero Negro cantina_

Mounting a chestnut mare, the false Enrique Vega (Artemus Gordon), dismounted in front of the cantina and tied the rented horse to the hitching post.

He looked around him: the street was deserted. Only a dozen people were sitting in the shade of some stunted trees, sat around a big table, talking and playing cards. Perhaps there was a pistolero or two among them, he hoped.

Artie entered the place shortly after, and appreciated the coolness. He didn't mind the heavy scent of smoke and stale beer that permeated the place. His own smell was worse, he knew.

Artemus headed toward the bar and beckoned to the bartender. "Tequila por favor, and your best," he said with a Mexican accent, throwing a pocketful of pesos on the dirty counter to cover his drink. His tongue licked his parched lips, tasting dust. "Hotter than hell out there," he said to start a conversation with the bartender. "I need to rinse my throat, I swallowed too much dust and sand in the desert, I'm damn thirsty!"

He removed his big hat and wiped away the shine of sweat from his hairline, then ran a hand over his wild hair, smoothing it down.

He looked around him: the place was Spartan: the white walls were decorated with Mexican colorful blankets hanging here and there, a few richly colored plates, some thirsty green plants in terracotta pots and that was all. A large mirror shone from behind the bar, and below it bottles of liquor, mostly cheap tequila and cheap whiskey, were lining the shelves.

The small room was dimly lit and empty save three silent Mexican men who were hunched over cards, smoking big cigars, sitting at a round table covered in black and white cowhide, with chips and glasses of beer sitting in the middle of it.

The patrons all looked up at him with a flick of curiosity, before turning their attention to their cards, re-absorbed by their game.

The bartender, an old scrawny bald man, pulled a bottle of tequila and a glass out from under the bar, sat it the counter. He uncorked the bottle without a single word; then he scooped the money up and shoved it in the pocket of his threadbare leather apron.

No conversation, then Artie mused, and he couldn't help but smile. It was siesta time. Everything worked slowly or not at all - talking to people included.

The bartender resumed his work: removing dust from the glasses with a relatively clean cloth, too lazy to drive away the big, black flies flying and buzzing around him.

Leaning his back against the bar, Artemus started to drink the liquor from the bottle, feeling it burn his throat as he swallowed.

The tequila was barely passable, but it quenched his thirst.

He stopped after a minute or so, took the glass and then moved toward the far side of the room, close to the back wall, which afforded an excellent view of the whole place.

Artie spent the afternoon there, drinking tequila, lounging in his chair and playing an idle game of solitaire with a deck of yellowed cards borrowed from the bartender.

WWW

 _Later_

Artemus Gordon decided to buy a second bottle of liquor, whiskey this time, and grabbed the folded newspaper lying on the nearby table.

He was pouring himself a shot, imprudently turning his back to the door, when he suddenly detected a presence behind him.

His sixth sense emitted an inner warning.

'Surely a pistolero. I didn't have to wait a very long time. Let's start the game, old boy. The die is cast.!' he thought.

Lowering the bottle of cheap whiskey to the counter, Artemus turned in a flash, drawing his gun – to find himself face to face with a young Mexican man with long hair, dressed like a cowboy, pointing a revolver at him, poking his stomach.

Imperturbable, Artemus took a sip of amber liquid and then chuckled.

In Spanish he said, imitating Vega's voice to the perfection, "Put that down, or you're going to hurt yourself, compadre." Then he slid his Colt back in his holster.

Smiling broadly, the other pistolero holstered his own gun and gave Artemus a big pat on the back. "Enrique! Old horse thief! I thought you were dead!" he said in Spanish too.

Speaking Spanish fluently, with a native accent, Artemus went on, "Well as you can see I'm not. I'm too smart to be killed."

The younger man removed his brand new white Stetson and brushed the dust off it. "What do you think of it? I shot a man this morning in the outskirts of the town to have it. I buried him hastily and stole his horse too, before selling it to an old prospector against a fistful of gold nuggets. I loved his hat and I wanted it! Now it's mine. So? How do I look Enrique?"

The false Enrique Vega smiled, "You look like a true American."

Pleased, the pistolero grinned. He patted Artemus's arm. "So, what happened? Tell me. You never showed up to Santa Cruz with the bodies of the Federales."

Artie sighed. "No. I headed here. I shot that gringo called Artemus Gordon, he's dead, but the other one, called James West, he killed the others and I had to…do a strategic retreat. So, to kill him as soon as I can, I followed him here." He touched his injured side. "I was hurt. He stabbed me in my left side. I had to take care of that first, but I'm fine."

The pistolero nodded and asked, in English this time, "That gringo, West, is he wearing a blue suit and a black hat? And riding a black stallion?"

Frowning, Artie asked. "Yes, where is he?"

The Mexican man said, "He's in the El Gato Negro hotel right now."

Grabbing his gun, Artemus said, "I'm going to kill him!"

Placing a hand on Artie's shoulder the pistolero shook his head, stopping the older man's motion. "No, not yet. For now señora Mendoza wants to see you."

Artemus hid a smile. 'Here we go', he thought.

The phony Vega nodded and downed his whiskey in one gulp. "Bien! Vamos."

WWW

 _Later, in the local livery stable_

Enrique Vega (Artemus Gordon) followed the pistolero inside the livery stable, on his guard, but showing a confident smile, hand resting on the handle of his gun.

He froze on the spot as he saw a middle-aged woman dressed in a Spanish-like black costume with a black hat on her head. She was standing beside an empty stall, framed by two bodyguards.

Carmelita Mendoza de León examined Enrique Vega from his boots to his hair. Artie remained calm. He knew that his disguise was perfect. She couldn't suspect anything.

Smiling, Artemus politely removed his sombrero charro, ran a hand through his messy hair to be more presentable and said, "I'm very happy to see you again Señora Mendoza de León." Then he smiled.

His smile wavered when he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise as a warning – and he knew why when he felt the mouth of a gun poke his back.

Keeping his cool, Artemus he asked, surprised, "Qué está pasando?"

Carmelita looked at him; her face screwed up in displeasure. "What happened?" she said in English. "I told you to kill West and Gordon, Enrique and you just killed one! I saw West enter the hotel at midday. He's still inside, at the bar, waiting for my husband and his delegation!"

Shifting in discomfort, Artie said, "I'm sorry. I killed Gordon, yes, but West killed the others and I… escaped. He's a redoubtable gunslinger! He could have killed me. I followed him here to kill him at the first opportunity. I will find a way."

Carmelita glared at the phony pistolero. "I thought you were brave, Enrique, but you're just a coward! Pistoleros don't flee, they fight – and kill or are killed fighting."

Falsely ashamed, Artemus lowered his eyes to the hay-covered ground of the stable and said, "I'm sorry Señora Mendoza de León."

Carmelita suddenly pulled out a Derringer from an inner pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Artemus, who let out a gasp of surprise and swallowed. "And pistoleros obey my orders! I should kill you myself!" She spat on the ground in contempt. "You are no longer worthy to be one of my pistoleros. But I'm going to give you a last chance Enrique…" She moved toward Artie and held her small gun up to his forehead. "If you fail, I will take a great pleasure to kill you personally." She brushed along his stubbled cheek with the barrel of the gun and added, "You are going to go to El Gato Negro hotel and kill West! Kill him, and you could leave the town alive. Otherwise…" She grabbed onto Artie's hair and wrenched his head back. He winced. "You will end with a bullet in your head, Enrique! Pedro and Sancho will accompany you; just to be sure you won't flee like you did before. Do that and they'll kill you immediately, entiendes?"

Beginning to sweat profusely, Artie nodded, "Si, si," he said, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this and warn Jim of what would happen.

Carmelita lowered her small gun. "Then go! Kill him! There is no time to lose. My husband will be here soon and his escort will then protect the gringo." She looked at Pedro still standing behind Artemus, poking his back with the mouth of his Colt and added, "You know what to do. And if Enrique gets shot, you'll kill the Americano." She turned towards the man standing on her right. "You'll stay close to Enrique – your gun aimed at him as a way of persuasion."

Pedro and Sancho nodded. "Si, señora Mendoza de León," they both said.

WWW

 _El Gato Negro hotel_

 _Later_

Pedro and Sancho following him like his own shadow, Artemus entered the bar of the hotel – seeing Jim sitting at a lone table in the rear part of the room. He was the only customer there. He sighed in relief. Nobody else was likely to be injured or killed.

Pedro immediately moved to the side; hand resting on the handle of his gun, ready to shoot.

Artie headed towards Jim who was slowly sipping a foaming beer. He stopped in front of the middle of the bar, pushed his large black hat backwards onto his back, held by a leather cord round his neck, and gestured to the bartender. "Tequila," he said with Vega's voice.

The bartender settled the glass he was drying down on the bar, and grabbed the bottle of tequila he kept underneath the countertop. Sensing close danger coming his way, the old man poured a glass, set the bottle on the countertop, and then prudently moved back. He has been in this situation before and it often ended in shoot-outs and bloodshed, he thought. Frightened of being hit by a stray bullet, he finally exited the room, using the back door.

Throwing his head back, Artemus quickly downed the glass of liquor and setting his glass on the countertop he turned toward Jim, his eyes narrowing, adjusting to the relative twilight, gas lights flickering against the golden floral patterns of the wallpaper.

He was ready. 'Let's start the play!' he thought.

Still using Vega's voice, he said, "Eh! Gringo! You and I, we have some unfinished business…" and glanced at the pistolero climbing the stairway leading to the first story.

Pedro suddenly stopped in the middle of the stairs, and un-holstered his six-shooter, both Jim and Artie in his line of fire.

Sancho took a place at a table directly behind Artemus, his revolver aimed at the false Enrique Vega, ready to open fire on the other man's back.

Holding a glass of beer, Jim asked, "Are you sure Vega?" He surveyed the scene quickly, taking everything in, and then added, "The last time I un-holstered my gun you ran away like a scared rabbit, pistolero." He heard both Pedro and Sancho sniggering, but kept his gaze on Artie. He drank a small amount of the amber liquid down, before speaking again, "And you brought two friends to give you courage, that's a good idea. The more, the merrier." He stood up slowly, put the almost empty glass of beer on the table and moved his thumb to the left side, indicating for Artie to shoot the man on the stairs.

The phony pistolero raised his stubbled chin defiantly. "I don't need help, I can kill you all by myself," he said, and gave Jim a wink that meant 'okay'.

Jim nodded. "Are your friends going to see you be killed like passive spectators, or are they going to participate, Vega?" Pedro and Sancho grinned like crocodiles, revealing gold teeth here and there, in response. "I have the answer to my question, then. First you, then your compadres. It's okay with me. Three coffins instead of one, I really don't care."

Artemus was impressed: Jim was really perfect in his gunslinger role. It was Frank Slade again, less the thin moustache. "I should have killed you the first time in the desert. But I'm going to kill you now, gringo. Say your prayers, it's over!"

His face expressionless, his hand on the butt of his Colt .45, Jim took a gulp, finishing off the rest of his beer and lowered his eyes downwards. Artie gave him a second wink. Artemus had understood that he knew: he would throw himself to the wooden floor so that he could shoot the man sitting at the table behind him.

Jim sat his now empty glass on the table one last time, and pulled a cigar (a real one, not an explosive one) out of his inside jacket pocket and rolled it between his fingers.

Regarding the cigar thoughtfully, he said, "You're going to die, pistolero, you know that?" He struck a match and inclined his head, sucking softly until the cigar lit. He took a draw, long and deep and exhaled. "I never lost a duel, obviously." He paused. "But I'm not going to stop you from trying to kill me – I emphasis _trying._ You should leave before it's too late."

The two men took positions facing each other, ready for dueling. They observed each other, impassively, eyes locked. For a long, tense moment the two men held each other's eyes, but neither man made a move for their guns.

Pedro and Sancho tensed up, held their breaths, hands on their own pistols ready to fire at any minute.

The phony Mexican pistolero shook his head, emitting a low threatening growl. "Don't be so cocky, gringo…Cemeteries are full of people who were too confident."

James's face darkened. "Leave before it's too late."

Artemus shook his head. "No." Slowly moving his hand to his holster, he repressed the urge to roll his eyes and say, "you're enjoying this little game too much, compadre."

Still looking at Artie directly in the eye, he blew out a long trail of smoke; Jim plucked his cigar from his mouth (with his left hand) and said. "Whenever you're ready, pistolero," Then he placed the cigar between his lips, taking another long drag. "I'm waiting. I don't have the whole day." He exhaled a new cloud of smoke. "Try to shoot me, pistolero – _just try_."

No movement. No sound – or almost. A big, black fly broke the silence, circling around Jim's empty beer glass, buzzing loudly. It finally landed on the edge of the glass and everything stood still in total silence. Time seemed suspended.

The tension in the cantina ratcheted up another notch.

Pedro pulled a musical pocket watch out of his pants pocket and said, "Let's play a little game. I stole it - with all his money - from an old Americano after I killed him, it makes music…." He paused, watching the two opponents who were still immobile and staring at each other, like two statues. "When the chimes end, take your gun and fire at each other! It's going to be fun." And he opened it.

Immediately, the first notes of a dance number resounded.

It was hot inside the bar, and Artie, who had a low tolerance for heat, was sweating profusely – and was a bit nervous too.

He had every confidence in his aim and in Jim's but couldn't predict what the two pistoleros would do… fire at the same time as them, or fire after they were hit… he thought. He wiped his brow with the back of his left hand, and narrowed his eyes, keeping a poker face.

The tension was almost tangible now.

Living picture of calm, Jim took a long drag, keeping eye contact with Artemus as the smoke swirled around and between his partner and himself.

Slowly, very slowly, Artie slid his right hand to the butt of his Colt – and James did that too. They both flexed their fingers.

Both were ready to fire… not at each other, but at the pistoleros.

The loud barking of a dog outside broke the almost-complete silence, making everybody jump. The tension stepped up another notch.

Unable to resist any longer, Artie scratched his itching stubble.

Pedro cracked his knuckles and neck.

Sancho chased away a mosquito which was flying around him, and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his sleeve.

Jim started chomping down on his cigar, and he grinned.

Artemus could read: 'it's time!' in his partner's green eyes. 'Be ready old man,' he thought as his shoulders tensed up.

The music stopped.

Instantly, Artie grabbed his gun, pulling back the hammer in one smooth motion, and fired at Pedro, who, fatally hit square in the chest, cried out in pain, stumbled back and collapsed to the stairs. Then Artie dove to the wooden floor.

It was Jim's turn to pull the trigger, and he didn't miss his target either. Sancho didn't have time to use his Colt. He dropped to the ground like a stone, without a cry, a bullet lodged in his heart.

There was utter silence after that.

Then Artemus stood up and dusted himself off before sliding his smoking gun back into his holster. "Thank you Jim," he said, smiling.

They traded a warm handshake.

Jim smiled. "You're welcome Artie. It was a pleasure."

Artemus looked down at the two dead pistoleros. "I have to kill you, you know, señor West. Señora Carmelita Mendoza de León will kill me if I don't. She commanded me to kill you."

Sitting back down in his chair Jim exhaled slowly, blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air. "Then you have a problem, compadre. I have no intention to die, not before a long time."

Artie nodded. "And I have no intention to kill you."

They were exchanging a smile when a group of four men entered the room and immediately pointed their guns at the two agents. Carmelita appeared then, and said, "Drop your guns or you're dead!"

Looking at each other, Jim and Artie chose to stay alive. They complied and raised their hands – but first Jim sat his cigar on the bar. It was a good cigar. "I'll finish it later."

Carmelita glared at the false Vega. "You shot Pedro and Sancho… and you were ready to flee when we arrived, didn't you Enrique?"

Shaking his head, Artemus took a step forward. Taking back his Mexican accent he said, "No! No! The gringo killed them both! He wanted him and me to be alone."

Jim nodded. "He tells the truth," he said. "A duel is between two people, not four, señora, or it's a shootout. I was ready to duel with that man when you interrupted us. It's very impolite."

Removing his large hat, Artemus placed it against his chest. "Let me kill that gringo señora." And used his other hand to discreetly fish one of the mini tear gas bombs he had slid into a tiny pocket sewn inside. "I want to redeem myself. Give me a chance, por favor."

Camerlita Mendoza de León moved toward Jim and Artie. "Muy bien, you will continue that duel." And she pulled out her small gun. "Take position."

The false Vega nodded… pulled out the small pin and dropped the mini bomb at his feet before using his foot to make it roll towards the pistoleros, and moved back.

It exploded right before them, enveloping them in a white cloud of tear gas. Immediately the four men started coughing, crying, sneezing, their lungs, noses, mouths highly irritated. They tried to move away from the tear gas but the pain in their eyes was terrible, and they were temporary blinded. Then, dizzy, weak, they started vomiting onto the floor.

Moving away from the cloud of tear gas, Carmelita swore under her breath, pointed her Derringer at Artemus and fired – at the same time as Jim - and the two bullets – incredibly - met.

One of them grazed Artie's scalp above his temple, and he grunted in pain. His vision whited out for a few seconds.

The other bullet hit the ceiling.

She was pulling a knife from her back when Jim caught her wrist in a tight grip. She winced and dropped the sharp weapon to the ground.

Holding the Mexican pistolero-woman firmly against him, Jim looked at Artie, stumbling back, his hand on his head, grimacing in pain.

He frowned in concern, seeing blood seeping through his best friend's fingers and asked, "Artie! Are you going to be alright, buddy?"

His head throbbing, Artie nodded, ignoring the trembling in his fingers. 'That was close! That bullet could have gone through my skull!' he thought. He drew his hand back and looked. He had blood on his fingertips. "It's just a graze… Don't worry, I'm going to be okay. There's a lot of blood but it's not deep. Scalps wounds bleed a lot. I've had worse injuries, one of them being fairly recent." But words came out pained and breathless, and he bit down on his lip.

Carmelita was very surprised. "What? Artie? Buddy? I don't understand."

Glancing at the pistoleros, still lying on the floor affected by the tear gas, Jim nodded and said, "This man is my partner, Artemus Gordon. He disguised himself as Enrique Vega – who is dead by the way. Artemus wanted to infiltrate your gang."

She groaned angrily. "I should have killed him on sight!"

Gritting his teeth, his head hurting like hell and fighting nausea, Artie picked up his gun. He re-holstered his firearm and ever-gallant, he bowed his head, "Encantado, Señora Mendoza de León."

Suddenly six men entered the room in their turn – one civilian and five Mexican officers. The military men immediately drew their guns.

The civilian took a step forward, his brow furrowed, upset. "My name is Carlos Mendoza de León – and you, the man in the blue suit, you are holding my wife!"

Still holding Carmelita tightly against him, Jim nodded. "Who happens to be the chief of a gang of pistoleros, your Excellency. Those men, lying on the floor, her men, will confirm it, Sir." Pulling out his Secret Services ID, he added, "My name's James West, and the man standing beside me is my partner Artemus Gordon, we're Special Agents. President Grant sent us to escort you to San Francisco."

Sitting on a chair, hurting and tired, blood all over the right side of his face, Artemus added, "She's the one who tried to kill you twice, your Excellency, and she had planned to kill you here, in San Luis Rio Colorado. As the saying goes, never two without three."

More than surprised – and feeling betrayed - the Governor paled. Looking his wife right in her eyes, he asked, "Is it the truth, Carmelita?"

She raised her chin proudly. "Yes, it's the truth! And it's all I have to say." Then she scowled.

Deeply stricken, the Governor of Baja California said, "Capitán Hernández, put that woman under arrest. She tried to kill me, twice and planned to kill me a third time."

Raising his hand, Artemus added, "And she tried to kill us too. There's a garrison here with a brig, Sir. May I suggest you place all the pistoleros behind bars before we leave?"

Mendoza de León nodded. "Capitán Hernández, go to the garrison and bring soldiers here. In the meantime, the two American Special Agents and the Lieutenants forming my escort will keep those pistoleros at gunpoint."

Capitán Hernández hesitated. Then, slowly he pointed his gun at the Governor. "Drop your guns! Everyone, or I shoot the Governor!"

Everyone froze in utter stupefaction, and there was a stunned silence.

Capitán Hernández cocked the hammer of his gun, placing the barrel of it against Carlos Mendoza de León's left temple. "Do it! I won't hesitate to kill him!"

Jim and Artie complied – as well as the rest of the escort.

The pistoleros stood, their eyes red and puffy, and their faces soaked with tears. They immediately collected all the guns.

Carmelita disengaged herself from Jim's grip, picked up her gun and knife, and grinned. "Well done, querido!" She said before joining the Mexican officer, kissing him on his lips.

Suddenly, Jim snapped his fingers twice. "Of course! Enrique Vega told us that señora Mendoza de León was in love with someone else… It's you, Captain. And you were well-placed to try to kill the Governor."

Carmelita nodded. "But this time, he's not going to fail. The third time is always good. Miguel, querido, kill the Governor – my _late_ husband."

Miguel Hernández pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation. Carlos Mendoza de León collapsed like a ragdoll to the floorboards. He was dead before he landed.

Sniggering, the pistoleros aimed at the Mexican officers and shot them, one by one.

Seeing that Artemus was sliding his hand inside his hat, fearing to see him pull out a small gun hidden there, Camerlita Mendoza de León pointed her Derringer at him and fired, hitting his right hand.

Crying out in pain, Artie staggered back, dropping his mini bombs-filled-hat to the floor… opening his injured hand, releasing the explosive mini (but powerful) bomb – its pin gone.

Cursing under his breath, Jim felt the blood drain from his face. "Artie!" he called. Then in a span of five seconds, he took Artie by his arm, overturned a table and in a flash pulled him behind it, crouching beside his partner, sheltering them both from the coming explosion.

The mini bomb rolled towards the pistoleros and exploded with a powerful blast. All of them were killed on the spot and Miguel and Carmelita knocked out.

Suddenly a group of Mexican soldiers irrupted into the room, now partly destroyed and filled with dark and acrid smoke.

Jim stood, his hands raised. "Don't shoot! I'm a federal agent!"

Looking around him, then at Jim West, an officer, a Lieutenant, took a step forward, holding his gun and pulled back the hammer. "Qué está sucediendo aquí? What's happening here?"

James West sighed. "It's a long story."

WWW

 _Much later, in the USS Portsmouth, in the sickbay_

Dr. Davidson pulled a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf of the sideboard and poured one glass. "I think you need that young man." He reached out, offering it to Jim, sitting on a chair beside the bunk on which Artemus was lying, unconscious. He had a bandaged hand and a bandage on his head.

Frowning in concern, Jim asked, "Is he going to be alright?"

The ship's doctor smiled reassuringly. "Yes, don't worry. I cleaned, disinfected and bandaged his wounds. I stitched the graze on his scalp, it's not deep, but bled a lot. But before that I had to shave off a good part of his hair. He probably won't like that, but I had no other choice to access the graze. As for his hand, it was a clean shot and it was a small bullet. He was lucky, there will be no permanent damage to it. But he shouldn't use it for a couple of weeks. Is he right-handed?"

Still watching at Artemus's prone form lying in the bed, he nodded. "Yes and no. He's ambidextrous. But he'll be left-handed next week." He took the glass. "Thanks: for Artie, and for the whiskey." He smiled. "I didn't know liquor was authorized on board Navy ships."

Peter Davison chuckled. "It's not. But it's for medical purposes. I think you should sleep, Mr. West. It has been a long, hard night. There's an empty bunk just there." And he pointed at the bunk placed on the other side of the room, sat beside the wall.

Exhausted, Jim gulped the liquor, gave the glass back to the medical officer, stood, crossed the room and lay down on the bed.

He glanced at Artie, sleeping soundly, drugged with laudanum, and let his eyes slide shut. He was fast asleep one second later.

WWW

 _Day 6_

 _The next morning, on board the USS Portsmouth_

The strong smell of coffee woke Jim.

He slowly blinked awake and saw Dr. Davidson smiling at him. The older man was holding a steaming cup of coffee. "Good morning, doctor."

The doctor placed his hand on Jim's arm. "Good morning Mr. West, did you sleep well?"

Pulling himself to a sitting position, James West nodded and said, "Yes, thank you, doctor, despite the moving ground and all the noise, the creaking of ropes and spars, the slamming sails, the whistles, people shouting orders, etc." He took the cup the doctor was holding out. "Thanks."

Davidson nodded. "You're welcome. Do you feel seasick?"

Jim shook his head. "No, doctor," he said. "Not yet", he added. He looked at Artemus still sleeping open mouthed and snoring lightly, and knitted his eyebrows in concern. "How is he?"

Davidson smiled reassuringly. "He's going to be fine."

There was a moan, and Artemus opened his eyes, slowly. He glanced around him, confused and disoriented, his eyes unfocused. "Wha…?"

Davidson sat on a chair beside the bed and took his patient's pulse at his throat. "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Gordon?"

Blinking his way out of his daze, Artie groggily murmured, "Groggy. Like I was drugged… don't like that." He touched his throbbing temple. "What happened? Who are you?"

Davidson smiled reassuringly and said, "Everything's alright. I'm Peter Davidson, the medical officer aboard the _USS Portsmouth_. Your partner brought you here after you were injured – again. I took care of your injuries, namely the graze on your scalp and the small hole in your hand. I used laudanum to knock you out, that's why you feel like you were drugged – because you were. But the effects should vanish soon, with a solid breakfast and a long walk on the deck breathing the sea air. I hope you don't suffer from seasickness."

Artemus shook his head. "No, I sailed all over the world on a clipper like this when I was a young man. I started my deckhand life on the New York-to-San Francisco route around Cape Horn…"

Davidson smiled. "Well, sailor once, always sailor." He stood up and left his place to Jim, holding his hot cup of coffee. "I strongly recommend you not to use your right hand during the coming two weeks, Mr. Gordon – and to take a bath to clean yourself up. Forgive me being blunt, but you smell like a drowned and decaying rat in the bilge. There's a bathroom attached to the sickbay. I have to see the Captain. I'll see you later, gentlemen." Then he left the room.

Sitting on the vacant chair, Jim said, "He's exaggerating, just a bit, but he's right about you taking a bath and cleaning yourself up, buddy." He handed the untouched coffee to his best friend. "Hi!"

Moving to a sitting position, Artie leaned against the bulkhead and ran a hand through his hair, sticking up and hanging over his forehead. Then he took the cup of coffee with his left hand. "Hiya Jim, and thanks for the coffee." He took a sip, said, "Hmmm… Not bad."

There was sudden series of creaks from the ship as she rode huge waves. Jim immediately blanched a little under his tan.

Curious, Artemus looked around him. The sickbay of the US Navy sloop-of-war was quite big, with six cots and a dozen folded hammocks hanging in a corner. The shelves were well-furnished with all the necessary medical supplies.

There was a small table too and a couple of chairs. He noticed an operating table on the opposite side with a wooden box sitting on it. 'Probably containing surgical instruments', he mused. Lanterns hanging from the ceiling were swinging in rhythm with the movement of the ship.

Puzzled, the older man asked, "Why are we here, on board this ship?"

Rubbing one eye, Jim said, "After you were shot I carried you to the local doctor, but he was absent for days for an emergency in a hacienda far from the town, so I had two solutions: bring you to a doctor in Yuma or bring you on board the _USS Portsmouth_. The ship was closer and the trip to Port Isabel here faster on a steamboat and smoother than lying on a buckboard. So, you and I are on board the sloop-of-war heading to San Francisco. We're actually sailing in the Gulf of California. We should reach the port of San Francisco in three weeks if the winds are with us."

Sitting his cup of coffee on his lap, Artie finally noticed the rolling of the boat, the sounds of the waves hitting the hull, the whistles of the boatswain, the sails banging in the wind… and noticed too that his partner was very pale and green and had clamped his mouth shut.

He patted his best friend's arm. "Don't worry Jim, it's going to pass with time." He took another sip of coffee and asked, "Does the President know about what happened in San Luis Rio Colorado?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, he does. Lieutenant Vasquez of the local garrison sent a telegram to Mexico, to his President and then another one to Washington."

Drumming the cup with his finger nervously, upset, Artemus sighed. "I know that our mission was to escort and protect Carlos Mendoza de León in our country, and not in Mexico, but I have the disagreeable feeling of having failed my assignment."

Jim nodded. "I know, I have the same feeling."

Leaving his cot, Artemus nodded and said, "But no one could predict what would happen to the Governor. And we weren't responsible of his security in San Luis Rio Colorado." He stood and swayed. "Let's find the mess, I'm starving!"

Jim shook his head. "Not so fast buddy. I can't let you go to the mess in that terrible state of personal hygiene. The crew could throw you overboard!" He chuckled softly.

Smiling, Artemus raised his cup of coffee. "To a safe voyage home!"

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Three weeks later, at the Governor of California house_

President Grant patted Jim's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Don't make that face, my boy! What happened to Governor Mendoza de León wasn't your fault."

Lowering his eyes to his glass of Champagne, Jim nodded. "I know Sir, but Artie and I still have the feeling that we failed that mission."

Ulysses S. Grant nodded and pulled out a cigar from his inner pocket of jacket and glanced again at Jim West standing beside him. "Speaking of your partner, where is he? He left five minutes ago to say hello to Senator MacPherson and he didn't came back."

Striking a match against a nearby marble column, Jim smirked. "Knowing Artemus, he probably met some lovely lady on his way back, Sir." Then he took a sip of Champagne.

The President took a series of short, quick inhalations to get the long and thick cigar lit. He exhaled a puff of smoke then said, "My money is on ladies, plural, Jim. I heard that Artemus knows almost all the women present here tonight – there are good friends of his from Washington who have settled here in San Francisco." 'Good friends, yes, right.. No woman can be just a good friend with Artemus 'Don Juan' Gordon'. He thought, smiling. 'Same thing with Jim West', he added in his head.

Suddenly the two men looked at the Governor heading toward the buffet, a stunning woman on his arm. She was all black hair that curled around her shoulders and had wide, brown colored eyes. She had a creamy skin, with rouge on her cheeks. She had painted her lips with a darker rouge and she was wearing a white dress and long golden sleeved gloves. She had matching gold earrings and necklace.

Grant smiled. "Speaking of lovely ladies..."

Setting his half-empty glass of Champagne on a table, Jim nodded, awed, under the spell and said, "She's more than that Sir… she's amazing, exquisitely beautiful…"

Said lovely lady turned around in a swirl of satin and silk and looked at Jim – totally ignoring the President as if invisible, and offered him a large warm smile.

President Grant chuckled softly. "And she seems to have noticed you, Jim. Oh! And she's heading here," he said as the beautiful woman left her cavalier's arm to his dismay.

She made a short bow in front of the President of the United States. "Mr. President, it's an honor and a pleasure to meet you," she said.

Ulysses S. Grant tilted his head and took the woman's hand in his, for a baise-main. "I'm delighted to meet you Miss…"

The amazing and exquisitely beautiful woman smiled. "Miss Elizabeth Cameron, Mr. President. I'm a friend of the Governor's sister, Deidre. She invited me here tonight, to this lovely reception." Miss Cameron looked at Jim then. "And you are James West, I hear, the famous Secret Services agent. All the women here are talking about you… and they would very much like to meet you, to get to know you somewhere more private, in the boudoir perhaps, but it may be a bit small…"

His male pride pleased, Jim smiled broadly and bowed his head. "It would be a pleasure, but I'm very sorry, I have to decline that invitation, Miss Cameron. I'm protecting the President tonight. Actually, we two are to protect the President. I'm waiting for my partner who is probably detained somewhere. You haven't seen him by any chance? He is tall, has wavy dark hair, has brown eyes and he wears a black suit with... he's probably detained somewhere by a lady…"

She pouted adoringly while playing with a long lock of her dark hair. "Does it mean that you can't dance with me, Mr. West?"

Feeling terribly sorry, Jim shook his head. "I'm really sorry, Miss Cameron, but no. I'm on duty, as is my missing partner. Another time perhaps…"

Elizabeth Cameron nodded, visibly disappointed. Then, suddenly, she let out a soft laugh, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and with _a tenor voice_ she said. "Well, James my boy, I won the bet. You will offer me a bottle of Courvoisier, the Cognac of Napoléon. My favorite liquor. I got you!"

Grant chuckled. "Your partner was never far from me, Jim, protecting me, but incognito, disguised. By the way, very good disguise, Artemus and bravo!"

Elizabeth Cameron / Artemus Gordon smiled broadly. "Thank you Sir."

Stunned, blinking, Jim croaked, "What? How…? But…. What?"

Smiling, Artie said, "You're very eloquent tonight James." He chuckled. "I created a mask of my dear friend Elizabeth Cameron's adorable face and put it on my face. As for the rest of my disguise, cross dressing was child's play." He smiled broadly in triumph. "You didn't recognize me, and you lost our bet. Elizabeth was my accomplice tonight… along with the President." He turned around and lifted his hand.

The real Elizabeth Cameron appeared coming out from a group of women chatting together. She was blonde with blue eyes and wearing a green dress.

She took Artemus by the arm and smiled. "Judging by your expression of total surprise, Mr. West, Artemus's little trick worked. Isn't he lovely disguised in a woman? A good part of the men present here tonight want to court him, I mean her." She looked at Grant and said, "With your permission, Mr. President, can Artemus protect you from afar again?"

President Grant nodded. "Don't distract him too much, my dear," He said. "He is on duty, remember."

Giggling, Artemus left, holding Miss Cameron's hand. They joined a group of men standing beside the immense buffet.

Finally Jim smiled, admitting his defeat. "He got me! He's very good."

The President nodded. "Better than that. He's Artemus Gordon."

The end


End file.
